The Upstart
by pinkskyline
Summary: Mary has a strange request for her uncle. She doesn't want Dickon to be sent away, but it's the only way to save him from a coal mine. Will things change between them when he returns from school?
1. Chapter 1

Mary was eleven when she stamped her foot, looked at her guardian Archibald Craven and said, "I _want_ him!"

"You want him for what?" Archibald asked dryly.

"I want him to be allowed to walk in through the front door. I want him to sit in my drawing room. I _don't_ want him to be under-gardener. I _don't_ want him to step one precious foot in a coal mine."

Archibald looked his niece over, noticing her flushed face and indignant expression. She often had these queer, old-womanish outbursts. What other eleven year old was so conscious of class, or even of the dangers of coal mines? It _would_ be a travesty for the boy to work in a coal mine, with his talent with animals. But it was what his father had done, and his father before…

"Don't you dare look at me like that! I will have my way. He deserves some reward for all he did for Colin and me," Mary said.

"I don't think he expects one," Craven said.

"All the more reason to give him one. I'd hardly be arguing his case if he were the type to come request a hundred pounds," Mary said.

Archibald sighed, knowing he could argue with the girl no longer. "What is it you require of me, Mary?"

"I require that you sent him away to a school for gentlemen, although I by no means require you to send him to the best or most prestigious one. And then I want you to send him to read at a university. I think he should be a doctor, but really it's none of my business what he does," Mary said.

"Is this what he wants?"

"I—don't know. Why wouldn't he want it?"

"Mary, has it occurred to you that at present Dickon is a young boy who desperately loves his family? He may not want to go away from them, even for so lofty a goal as one day being able to sit in the drawing room with you. Perhaps the boy is quite happy being who he is, and with the choices at his disposal."

Mary's face scrunched up with tears, and Archibald felt a moment of panic. He hated to see her cry. No matter how petulant she could be, she never cried to get her way. "He doesn't want to go into the mine. His whole family knows it would just be a sin. He's got such talent with animals, and _people_…it was mostly he who brought Colin around. I just know his mother would want the very best for him."

"Shall I go and talk to Mrs. Sowsbury?" Craven asked.

"How will that help? If you won't help—" Mary stopped midsentence, realizing what he meant. "You mean you will make the offer?"

When Archibald nodded she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "I just know he'll do it. He'll have a lot of catching up to do but he's never been afraid of hard work. Please, do choose a school in the country, won't you? I don't know if Dickon would quite survive in a city."

In the garden, a day after her talk with her uncle, she saw Dickon. She was alarmed to see the chubby, ruddy cheeked lad was crying.

"Oh Dickon!" She exclaimed, instantly remorseful. She knew she had in some way caused his tears through her interference, and she threw her arms around the boy. He looked up sadly.

"Tha' wants to send me away, Miss Mary?" Dickon asked.

"Only to save you from a coal mine. I did what I had to do," Mary said.

"I'll be a sight duller than all the other lads. They'll all be rich toffs, too," Dickon said.

"That's not the right attitude. You're as smart as anyone. You just haven't had the schooling. And as to the rest, my uncle won't send you to a school where you'll be out of place…or that out of place. And you'll win friends wherever you go. I know it," Mary sighed. "You don't have to go, you know. No one's forcing you," she said stiffly.

"But Mary, how could I not agree? The chance to escape the coal mine…me da' comes home each night and stripes naked and gets right in a tub. It's black in a minute. 'e takes hours to get the dust from his ears, from his clothes…and the way 'e coughs. Tha' done a good thing when you went to your uncle, for me and the whole family."

"I'll write to you every week. I promise. I'll slip a note into each one of Martha's letters," she said. "And I shall tell you all about the garden, and how it thrives because it's finally found."

"Don't tha' think Craven will send you off to school, too?" Dickon asked.

Mary cringed, knowing being sent off to school was all she deserved after foisting that fate on Dickon. She smiled grimly. "Maybe when I'm as old as you are. But for now I will stay and wait for you to come home on holidays and see me. You will come and see me, won't you?"

Dickon grinned, his round blue eyes twinkling. "Aye, Mary. And perhaps the next time I see you, I'll walk through the front door." 


	2. Chapter 2

Mary had loved school. In fact, despite her wish to stay at home, she had excelled at school, and made more friends than she had imagined herself capable of making. It helped that these days more often than not her sweet nature won out over her sour nature. Every holiday she returned home to see uncle Archibald and cousin Colin, Martha, and perhaps even Dickon.

Dickon rarely came home on holidays; even though he missed his family terribly, he was very behind in his studies, and he could often complete extra assignments and get extra lessons if he stayed at school.

As a consequence Mary soon grew away from her closeness with Dickon. She knew he was wonderful, and she knew she had done the right thing by asking her uncle to help him gain more opportunities, and she was often curious about him, but she rarely missed him and made many new friends. By the time he graduated from school and came home for the summer before he was to start university, he was a virtual stranger.

Colin had accelerated his studies and was also due to begin university in the fall. Mary would be home, finished her schooling, and trying to find out how to be a suitable hostess for her uncle's sporadic house parties. Her uncle Archibald had started to be much more sociable, probably because soon he would have two children who would need to find partners in life.

"Father thinks you would make a good duchess, I understand," Colin said to her jokingly on the second day of his holiday.

"Just because he has invited the son of a duke here for a weekend this summer does not mean he wants me to marry the man. Besides, I think I would be the worst duchess in history. I would frequently disappear into the grounds and return muddy and carrying a frog," Mary said.

"How has the garden survived without your tender care?" Colin asked.

"Oh, very well. Have you not been out to see? It's ever so lovely. Ben has been outdoing himself. He almost smiled when I commented on the roses," Mary said.

"I daresay an almost smile is more than I've ever gotten from the fellow. I almost hope the fellow will be retired when I take over this household, for otherwise I shall be vastly intimidated by him. But I suppose the roses would suffer," Colin said.

"Have you seen Dickon since you returned home?"

"We met on the train. What a different fellow he is these days. Well, he's not changed in essentials. He's kind and all, but he's become rather cultured. I had a conversation with him about his ambitions. I rather like the fact he wants to be a doctor, and he wants to work here in the village. I could never imagine letting a sawbones near my future children; they made my life a disaster. But I could trust Dickon. I've never met a truly sensible doctor."

"I always thought he should be a doctor. I thought you would be one, too, in retribution for all you suffered at the hands of them in your time," Mary said.

"I'm not certain what I shall do. I would love to do research. It is a very exciting time in physics," Colin said.

The butler walked in a presented a card to Colin.

"Thanks Hatfield. Show him in," Colin said. "I forgot to mention it, didn't I? I invited Dickon over for tea today."

Mary felt an unexpected flutter of excitement in her stomach at the thought of seeing Dickon. The last time she had seen him had been two years ago. He had been so tall, but still possessed the sweet round eyes and rosy cheeks that had so endeared him to her the moment she had seen him. Now he must be quite grown up; almost a man.

Colin and Mary both stood when Dickon entered the room. She couldn't believe how handsome he had become! All the baby fat which had kept him looking adorable long past the time when any boy would appreciate looking sweet had been replaced by solid muscle. His shoulders were broad and the rest of his physique was trim. She was momentarily intimidated by the changes in him, but then he took her hand to shake it, and she looked in his eyes. They were the same eyes she remembered, and she relaxed in the company of the one person she had always known would never hurt her, or anyone. She smiled shyly and he grinned in return.

"Good day to you, miss Mary," he said, not a hint of Yorkshire in his accent.

Mary felt bereft at its lost. "Does not tha' speak thy native tongue any longer?" she asked.

"Whenever I get the chance. You know, some people have trouble understanding such a broad accent as I once had, in the South," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"I remember asking you to repeat quite a few words myself," she said.

The three of them sat down. Colin and Dickon discussed some mutual acquaintances and Mary took the opportunity to ring for tea. She poured when it arrived, and then she sat back and looked at Dickon, wondering what it must be like for him to come sit in the drawing room in the house where his sister was an upstairs maid. It must be strange, but then Dickon had always had the ability to seem comfortable in any company. Uncle Archibald had always said it was because he and his whole family were sensible people, but Mary suspected it was because Dickon had always known what it was like to be loved. He had always had a family who adored him, and the respect and affection of the entire village. He never seemed to do anything to hurt anybody, or make any enemies. Perhaps it was because he was kind.

"What do you think, Mary?" Colin was asking her.

"I'm sorry. I was woolgathering, I am afraid," she said.

"Dickon suggested we see the garden. What do you think?"

"Of course," Mary said. She thought of the place that had somehow contributed to all of their salvations. Uncle Archibald had gotten over the death of his wife and bonded with his son, she had learned to love England and not be so contrary, Colin had realized he wasn't an invalid after all, and Dickon had been given the opportunity for a better life. It was also just plain beautiful. She knew just how it would smell after the rain the previous night. The rich earthy smell of soil that made her feel calm and connected to the earth.

"I'll be along in half an hour, shall I? I've got to return a letter—business, you see. Father's trying to make me take more responsibility," Colin said.

Mary and Dickon were happy to be left alone. Colin had immense energy and imagination, but his mental and physical restlessness was a little at odds with the calm, quiet comfortableness which had always existed between her and Dickon. Mary was pleased as she walked with her arm linked in his, that just as in the past, conversation was not required between them.

They stopped at the gate and Dickon reached over to open the door. He hesitated for a moment, looking at Mary. "Is it all quite wick?" he asked. There was no question in his mind that she had come to the garden soon after returning home, she noticed. If anyone knew how important the garden was to her, it was Dickon.

"Quite, quite wick," she said.

"And just a little bit wild and untidy?"

"Yes," she said, for some reason almost breathless. The moment passed before she had any time to wonder what she was feeling.

Soon they were walking through the garden. "It seems smaller, doesn't it?" Dickon asked, his voice somewhat disappointed.

"The terrible cost of growing older," Mary said, smiling. "Everything shrinks."

"It is still the most beautiful garden I have ever seen," Dickon said. Then he did something that truly made Mary's heart do flip-flops. He went down on his hands and knees and smelt the earth, then lay down and looked up at the sky. "I've missed you, Yorkshire," he whispered.

Mary sat down on the lawn. She was rather too old and too refined these days to feel quite comfortable sitting on the ground, but she remembered lying beside this boy and staring up at the clouds too well to let the opportunity pass.

Dickon propped himself up on an elbow and reached over, taking a rose from a nearby rosebush. He carefully removed the thorns and handed it to Mary.

"Tha' art beautiful Mary," he whispered.

"So are thee," she said, smelling the rose.

Strangely, when they heard Colin approaching, his letter written, neither felt his presence was an intrusion, despite the new awareness that perhaps there was slightly more than friendship between them. They laughed at being caught lying on the ground and invited him to join them.

To Mary's surprise, he did, and the three of them spent the next hour relaxing and catching up on all they had missed since they had last been together.


	3. Chapter 3

Mary couldn't stop thinking about that moment, when Dickon had given her the rose. He had looked into her eyes, called her beautiful…had he been about to kiss her? She blushed, remembering telling Dickon she loved him as a child, telling his sister that she thought he was beautiful. Was it possible that Dickon thought that she was in love with him?

Was it possible that if he thought that, he would be right?

Mary went back to her needlepoint sampler, pretending to be absorbed in the creation. Mary wondered if she had just discovered the joy of needlepoint—it allowed her to obsess about a boy without being obvious about it.

She couldn't be in love with a boy whose father worked in a coal mine, could she? What would her uncle think? She remembered Colin saying the other day that Archibald had wanted her to be a Duke's wife. He couldn't have been serious. Her uncle wasn't ambitious that way. But what would he ever think if she wanted to marry a boy from the village? And not just a boy, but a boy whose sister was employed as their maid. She couldn't stretch her imagination so much. Everyone always said Dickon was sensible, so why was he even putting such notions in her head?

"He just said I'm beautiful. He never asked me to _marry_ him," Mary told herself silently, and with some sour disappointment. It would be much more satisfying to have this argument with herself if he had declared his love for her. "Why shouldn't he be in love with me?" she wondered, forgetting her earlier ruminations on his class. "I certainly won't let him be in love with anyone else."

"Mary? Mary?" It was Colin. He had been trying to get her attention for some time, it seemed.

"Yes?"

"I need to ask you about something. And I shall need your full attention, so cast that needlework you are staring at as if it held the secret to eternal life aside for the moment," he said.

Mary did as he asked, used to his high-handed manner by now. She looked into his eyes challengingly, and his eyes dropped some of their imperiousness. He instead tried on a charming smile, and Mary smiled lightly in return. "What is of such pressing importance?"

"I need to choose a subject in school," he said.

"I don't know what help I can be. I never took physics or chemistry or biology, and they're all your favourites, aren't they?"

"But I would like to know…do you think my future wife, whoever she might be, would want me to be a botanist or a physicist?"

"I'm certain your future wife won't care what you do, as long as you are a wealthy lord and keep your hair," Mary said, laughing.

Colin grimaced. "I fear you are correct. If that is the case, and I am doomed to an intellectually inferior match, I may never marry. Unfortunately I disagree biologically with cousins marrying otherwise I should have to convince you to put up with me forever."

"I am sure there is some intellectually gifted young lady just waiting to find a husband to discuss all her scientific theories. Mr. Currie found a lovely wife to help him with his experiments. What is this talk of marriage, anyway?"

"My friend Henry just got engaged. He's all of nineteen. Can you imagine?"

"I hope you shall marry a formidable woman who won't put up with any of your nonsense. I haven't met anyone like her, but I will be sure to introduce you to her if I do."

Colin paused, and then got up awkwardly and went to the window. "I'm afraid Dickon will be taking the four o'clock train today. He's been offered a job as an orderly in a hospital. It's good experience."

Mary couldn't believe the confusion and near despair welling up inside her. "And he couldn't even say goodbye?"

"Would that be wise, Mary?" Colin asked. There was a little bit too much comprehension in his eyes, and Mary looked away abruptly.

"Would it be so terrible if he was your cousin-in-law?" she asked.

"Maybe some day it will be alright, if he makes a name for himself, and his fortune, and he is a successful doctor. But right now, he's only the son of a coalminer with a good education."

Mary felt helplessly close to tears. "You know he's more than that," she whispered.

Colin was regarding her with sympathy. She didn't know how he had known how she felt about Dickon. She thought she'd just realized it herself. But she and Colin had always been as close as brother and sister, and she should have known he would know before her. He always had been the smart one.

Mary went to the garden, the only place she could think of where she might find some consolation.

He was there. Dickon. Looking very sad, and very sympathetic. She flung herself into his arms, unleashing the tears she had been holding back. "Can we really be expected to live off of one afternoon for a whole year?" she asked.

"If I can I'll work there next summer, too," Dickon said.

"But—how can you? If you won't miss me, you'll at least miss your mother and your sisters and brothers. How can you be so cruel that you would stay away?" Mary wailed.

"If I stay here with you, if I sit in the garden or on the moor, or even in the drawing room with you day after day—I'll kiss you. I'll tell you I love you. I'll ask you to marry me and do everything wrong. I need to be the man you need me to be before I can ask you to love me."

"But I—"

"Don't say it," Dickon said. "I've worked hard and I will continue to work hard as long as I have to. I'll become a gentleman, or near enough. Before it was enough to work for a better future for my little brothers and sisters, but things have changed. All this time I never thought—I'm not Pip working for Estella. I never thought that was why you persuaded Lord Craven to send me to school. I fell in love with you two summers ago, when you walked through the village in that white dress, with a parasol. Do you remember?"

"I think I fell in love with you when you left me the picture of the mistle thrush," Mary said faintly. "I'm glad I didn't realize it. It would have made me nervous around you for half my life."

"Will you wait for me, Mary?" Dickon asked. It seemed as though his vibrant blue eyes were staring into her very soul.

"I'll wait for you forever," Mary said, and he finally kissed her.

It was a sweet kiss, soft and light. And deplorably short.

"I want no promise. If you fall in love with some gadabout lord or some lazy toff of a duke, or even if you find someone less important who you love more than me, I want you to marry him. I don't want you to fell obliged to marry me. You're young yet. I wouldn't ask you to tie yourself to me when you're not even eighteen."

"Then you must do the same," Mary said stiffly and begrudgingly.

Dickon laughed softly. "Now I know you don't mean that. I would never break faith with you as long as I live. If you fall in love with someone else it will take me years to recover. Maybe a decade."

"You promise?"

"Maybe I would never marry. I would spend my days wandering the moor among the squirrels and song birds, unfit for civilized society."

"Your hair askew and your clothes covered in dew and mud?" Mary asked.

"Absolutely."

"Well, then I would have to fall in love with you all over again," she said, thinking the picture very close to that of the boy she once knew.

With one quick kiss, he walked out of her life for five years. He wouldn't even let Martha put Mary's notes in her letters to him. It seemed that although he loved her, he was determined that she forget him.

If he never returned, how could she convince him that forgetting him wasn't possible?


	4. Chapter 4

"I do so love the wallpaper in here. Antique rose, I see. So fashionable these days. You are so clever that way, Mary," Serena said. She said a great deal more about the wallpaper, too, but Mary wasn't listening anymore.

She could hear the gentlemen talking about crop rotation in the billiard room, and she strained to hear what Lord Ramsey had to say about the subject. It was so vexing to be a woman sometimes!

"Mary? Where did you ever find that little table?" Serena asked, possibly not for the first time.

"Oh, a village lad made it for me when I explained what the room needed," she said.

Dickon's brother. Dickon had sent him wages from his detestable hospital job, and he had been able to buy an apprenticeship with a master carpenter. And a couple of years ago Martha had quit her job to get married. The entire Sowsbury clan was doing remarkably well. It seemed the only one who hadn't directly benefited from Dickon being sent away was Mary herself. But she hadn't done it for herself, she recalled. She'd done it for Dickon.

"And that Ottoman is charming, my dear, simply charming," Serena continued, seemingly without taking a breath. Talking with Serena was a little bit like doing needlepoint—it allowed a body to ruminate virtually uninterrupted.

"Shall we go out into the garden for tea? I believe the gentlemen have finished their game," Mary said.

Serena giggled. "I think Lord Ramsey is the most handsome man of my acquaintance. And so young to inherit his title. So fortunate for him."

"I doubt Lord Ramsey would agree. He did inherit from his father," Mary said.

"I never thought! Oh, please don't tell him I said such a silly thing. Not that he would pay it any mind. Everybody knows he's here because he's in love with you," Serena said.

Mary grimaced. She'd heard the rumors to that effect as well. "He's quite safe from me. Believe me when I say I shall never marry him, although he is rather charming."

"But that can't be! Everybody knows his asking is merely a formality. Why, you're almost twenty three years old," Serena said.

For the umpteenth time Mary cursed the fact that Alistair MacDougal, Colin's house guest and the reason Serena had been invited, hadn't been born an only child. Honestly, calling her an old maid? Why, it was the twentieth century, for goodness sake! But the last thing she wanted was for Serena to suspect there was some other man she was interested in, so she said nothing and continued walking towards the garden.

The garden near the house had been laid out for tea. The secret garden, she and Colin had agreed, would be just for the family. Some of the more adventurous guests had ventured there in small groups or intimate partnerships and been enchanted, and she didn't begrudge them that, but Mary couldn't imagine a large party tramping on her roses.

This was the eleventh house party and the fifth hunting party Mary had hosted. Many had taken place while Colin had been away at school and had involved much older guests, because they had been Lord Craven's friends. Lord Craven's friends were sedate and steady, but usually pleasant enough to have around and easy to entertain. This was the third she had hosted with Colin's friends. They were mainly great scientific minds or lofty aristocrats that Colin had met at school or at his club.

Generally Mary got stuck entertaining the simpletons they brought with them. It wasn't that she fancied herself brilliant, but she did have further ranging interests than wall sconces. Talking to Serena made her miss her conversations with Martha with a dull ache. Not even growing up or going to a fancy finishing school had decreased Mary's high opinion of Martha. She still saw her friend now and again, but Martha had a new baby and could only make so much time for her, and she lived in the village now. It wasn't like having her right down the hall.

Colin and Lord Ramsey were the only ones in the garden. Of course Serena began monopolizing Lord Ramsey, Mary noticed with some annoyance. She had no interest in Lord Ramsey, she reminded herself, but Serena though she did, so should stop flirting with the man constantly.

"How are you holding up?" Colin asked.

"I'll survive somehow," Mary said. "She's a very plague, though. Her brother is good natured and all, but I wonder if it really is worth inviting him if you have to take her on."

"He's a great chap and one of my dearest friends. Why he even thought I might marry Serena one day," Colin said. Mary narrowed her eyes and then noticed her cousin's eyes were twinkling.

"If you actually did something so idiotic I would have to conclude that she was that intellectual equal you've always been seeking," Mary whispered.

"Don't be contrary. She's only nineteen years old. She might yet improve," Colin said, and walked away.

Mary looked at Serena again. She was very beautiful, although Mary wondered if any man were superficial enough to take beauty over brains and personality. She decided that Serena would probably be married by the end of the summer, and refused to feel sorry for the girl's future husband.

The entire party had convened outside. There were delicate pink cakes on beautiful china plates with elegant pedestals, cucumber sandwiches, and many more delicacies. Her garden teas were becoming quite famous, but Mary was beginning to feel rather indifferent to the entire exercise. There were dozens of more useful things she could be doing. She entertained herself briefly with listing them as she pretended to listen to Serena charm Lord Ramsey.

Quite suddenly a scruffy but well-behaved dog walked into their party.

Colin laughed and scratched the dog behind the ears. "Where did you come from, my good man?"

"I'm afraid he's mine. So sorry to drop by unannounced. No one I spoke to told me that you had a party here this week," he said.

He. Dickon. Mary was quite suddenly blinking back tears. She struggled to control her emotions. He—well, he looked beautiful. He'd been working as a doctor for almost a year, and she hadn't seen him for five. He looked so handsome she couldn't believe he was that same ruddy-faced pudgy boy. He was as fit and strong as a laborer, but he spoke like a gentleman. For once Mary was glad of it.

"You know you're always welcome here, Dickon. Or should I say, Dr. Sowsbury," Colin said. He stood up to shake Dickon's hand, and Mary briefly envied his self-possession. Of course, he wasn't in love with the man.

"Join us for tea," Mary said. She had to take refuge in manners, as she didn't know how else to deal with Dickon's presence here. How she wished she'd met him again for the first time in the secret garden, or at least on the open moor, surrounded by heather in bloom.

"Thank you," Dickon said. He told the group at large that he was taking over the practice of the town doctor. Mary tried valiantly not to chortle with glee. He would never leave her again, she knew it.

Mary was momentarily worried about how Dickon would fit in, but she found that, as always, Dickon was extremely comfortable in the company of whomever he found himself with. He was sitting with a kind of languid grace that made the other man assembled look like girls. It was his self-possession, his inner grace and confidence, Mary knew. He would probably have felt just as comfortable with his Yorkshire accent and no education to speak of, but then the other people at the party wouldn't have deigned to speak to him.

Suddenly Mary felt cheated that Dickon had gone away for five years just to impress people like this. It hadn't been worth it. But if she could marry him—

"Mary? Did you hear me?"

Drat. Lord Ramsey had been talking to her. She smiled without comprehension.

"Will you take a turn about the grounds with me?" he apparently repeated.

"No," Mary said. She realized how it sounded and tried to amend her answer. "My—um friend—I haven't seen him in five years—I'm afraid—I couldn't," she stammered.

He held up his hand to stop her protestations. "I quite understand." His eyes were sorrowful. Mary wondered if he really had been about to propose. They hardly knew each other, so it would be very silly to propose. But he was a good person. He even got up and allowed Dickon to have his chair to have a chat with Mary.

"This is a wonderful tea," Dickon said.

"Oh. Why thank you," Mary said.

"How have you been?"

"Quite well," Mary said faintly, although inwardly she wailed. How had Dickon's eyes gotten so cold? Why was his smile so distant? What had she done wrong?

They chatted with perfect civility for a few moments, and then Dickon took his dog and left, promising to return the next day.

Although she was worried about the change she thought she had seen in Dickon's eyes, she couldn't help but inwardly rejoice. Dickon was home! He was home, and he was going to stay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry, this story is getting a little (or a lot) angsty…maybe I should change the label, ha ha…thanks for the kind reviews. **

The next day started bright and early. Dickon didn't come for the hunt, which neither Colin nor Mary found surprising. He had always found the hunt barbaric; he didn't mind shooting pheasants on his own, but he didn't like the odds of a crowd of men and a gang of dogs against a few unlucky birds.

He came in sometime in the midmorning and found the ladies amusing themselves in various ways in the drawing room.

"Hello Mary," Dickon said.

He seemed warmer this morning, and Mary had to mentally restrain herself from throwing herself into his arms. She smiled brightly instead. "It's so wonderful to have you back again."

Lord Craven walked in, apparently having been told that Dickon had arrived. "Dickon! You are very welcome here. Your mother has been giving me glowing reports of your progress."

"I've done my best for you and for my family," Dickon said evenly.

Mary admired his modesty. He had done something that few others had done, but he would never brag about it, and seemed inclined to attribute his success to the expectations of others. He had virtually started his education thirteen years late and come through as a doctor at the same time as everyone else his age. He'd also learned how to cope in many different social situations and overcame the circumstances of his birth, although his family had always been respectable.

"I wonder if you could do me a favor, as I know you are not interested in hunting," Lord Craven asked.

Dickon readily agreed.

"Could you have a go at breaking a horse? I know you're not exactly dressed for it. I have a groom around your size, though. This horse is a beauty, and I gave him to Colin for his birthday. No one has been able to gentle him. I suspect you could," Archibald said.

"I'd take real pleasure in it," Dickon said.

He went to change, and some of the ladies, having heard the interchange, decided that watching a handsome doctor gentle a horse might be more entertaining than needlepoint and playing cards. Mary warned them that they would have to be fairly quiet, and they agreed.

She walked with Dickon towards the barn. "I've missed you," she told him.

"Have you?" he asked. He looked at her intently.

"Of course I have. You know that I—"

"What a lovely day!" Serena said. She had run up to join them. Mary felt a perverse desire to push her down a nearby hill. She would have, if she had still been eight years old. "I know Lord Ramsey would hate to miss this. I hear he's quaintly interested in country goings on such as this. Do you think he would be interested, Mary? You do know him better than anyone."

"Why, I barely know him at all!" Mary said. "This is only the third time I've ever met him. And training horses is hardly a country thing—I believe most people in the city still use horses for transportation."

"Not for long. I know my brother is going to get a motor car. It seems madness to me. All the smoke and the inconvenience. He seems to think eventually they'll work out all the kinks," Serena said.

"It will be a shame if they do. A horse isn't just a means of getting around, he's a friend and a partner," Dickon said quietly.

Mary had forgotten how safe and calm she always felt around him. His presence was like a blanket of peace that somehow muscled out the anger and cynicism she frequently felt when he wasn't around. Even Serena didn't seem so bad, although Mary would have liked to have a few moments alone with Dickon.

They arrived at the paddock where the groom was already exercising the rangy mount. Midnight was beautiful—all sleek muscle under a shiny black coat. He was Colin's pride and joy, but had been beyond anyone's skill to gentle.

Dickon walked confidently up to the fence and ducked under, walking into the paddock. He said hello to the groom, apparently a friend of his, and the man left, understanding that Dickon wouldn't need him around to upset the horse.

Dickon approached the horse slowly, but by no means cautiously. He made a slow, low cooing sound and reached up his hand.

"He's about to get a kick," Serena said.

"You don't know him," Mary said. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. He hadn't seemed to move, and the horse hadn't either, but they were suddenly much closer. That peaceful spirit that Dickon seemed to give off was affecting Midnight, too, it seemed.

Soon Midnight was nuzzling him. "He doesn't break a horse in any way I've ever seen," one of the women watching said.

"No," Archibald said. He had followed the crowd, it seemed. "He really does gentle a horse, not break it."

"He'll jump on soon," Mary said. She felt a thrill in her belly thinking of him taking such a risk—but she knew he'd done that with wild ponies since he had been a little boy. At least this one knew men.

"Can I take him for a run, sir?" Dickon asked. It was strange that the crowd of people around was speaking in hushed tones and whispers, but Dickon spoke in a regular volume. The horse didn't even flinch.

"Whatever you think is best," Archibald said. The head groom, standing next to his master, nodded his head in approval. The local help had been pleased to see that although Dickon might have acquired some lofty ways and book learning, he didn't look down on or neglect his true gift with animals.

One of the grooms opened the paddock gate, and Dickon jumped on the horse in one smooth motion that seemed at odds with the laws of gravity. He spoke softly to the horse and then leaned down and slapped his flank.

Midnight took off in a burst of speed and galloped down the hillside onto the moor. Mary wished she was riding with him. She could almost feel his exhilaration.

The group of ladies murmured admiringly about Dickon's "seat" and his way with horses, and the romance of him galloping away on what was essentially a wild horse. Mary simply smiled after him.

"Has he managed to saddle that black stallion?" Lord Ramsey asked.

The hunting party had approached while everyone was looking after Dickon. Mary walked up to Ramsey and Colin. "He's bareback."

"I imagine he'll bring Midnight back and I won't recognize him. Dickon's a wonder," Colin said.

"That's an expensive piece of horseflesh to let your country doctor gallop around recklessly with. What if he takes a bad step?"

Colin looked mildly offended. "My father wouldn't let just anyone train our horses. Dickon knows what he's about. Now, let's take our kill into the cook and get washed up."

Ramsey offered Mary his arm, but she declined it, saying, "I'm going to wait for Midnight to come back."

When Dickon came back with Midnight, Mary was one of the only people still waiting for him. She leaned against the rail of the paddock, beaming at Dickon. He was concentrating on the horse. He made sure the grooms knew everything he had observed about the horse and gave them some advice on how to calm him.

"Did the men return from the hunt?" Dickon asked.

"Yes. Colin was pleased that his father had thought to ask you to see to Midnight," Mary said.

"He's a lovely horse. I must ask Lord Craven where he got it. Perhaps I'll see you back at the house?"

Mary held herself very still, aware that there were several people within hearing distance but feeling like she could just scream in frustration. "What have I done?" she whispered, but Dickon either pretended not to hear or really didn't hear. "I'll just wait for you, and we'll go back together, thanks," she said in a louder voice.

"I haven't seen some of these boys in some time. They'll hardly open up around the lady of the manor. Like I said, I'll see you back at the house," Dickon said. He looked away, and Mary found she couldn't argue with him. She wished he would look her in the eye.

"I…will you meet me in the garden later?" she asked tentatively.

"No!" Dickon fairly shouted. He lowered his voice. "I'll never go back to that garden, and I'll never be alone with you again. Save your smiles for Lord Ramsey. Whatever was between is over and has been for years."

"Oh but Dickon, that's just a rumor! I hardly know him. I don't care for him. I've been waiting all this time for your return. Please! I don't know what you've got in your head, but what we said in the garden five years ago is still true for me. You said you wouldn't break faith with me. You lied," she said. Tears filled her eyes, and she walked quickly towards the house, and then changed direction to go to the garden. It couldn't have all been her imagination, could it? Had Dickon changed that much? Had she changed him by sending him away, or by letting him go?

When she got to the garden, Lord Ramsey was there. "I've noticed this is a haunt of yours. I hope it's alright that I came. I wanted to get you alone so I could finally tell you, I want to marry you—why Mary, you're crying."

He opened his arms and she turned away. She still had trouble trusting people sometimes, and she didn't want to hurt him. If he truly cared for her, she didn't want him to think there was a possibility she could ever care for him in return.

"Mary, please, let me comfort you. I love you," he said.

"Well, stop it! I never asked you to and it's caused me no end of inconvenience," she snapped.

Lord Ramsey was taken aback. "You mean…you don't love me?"

"How could I? I don't even know you."

"But I'm…extremely eligible. I just thought…you're beautiful, and you like living in the country, and you come from a respectable family. But you have no money of your own, and you're twenty three. Why won't you love me?"

"You sound like Colin did when he was a little boy. Spoiled spoiled spoiled! But he grew up, and he realized that the world didn't revolve around him! Maybe you should try it. Perhaps you should have asked me if I was interested in marrying you before you told everyone in London you were in love with me. I'm not even particularly interested in talking to you. I'm not some dried up old spinster. I'm not married because I'm in love with someone else."

"You are?" It was perhaps a measure of the man's arrogance that he didn't seem to hear Mary's insults.

"Yes! I've been waiting for him to finish his schooling and make a name for himself. We've had an understanding, a private one, for years. Colin could have told you. He's always known who I want to marry."

"It's that doctor, isn't it?"

"Yes," Mary said, "And your presumptuous behavior may have ruined everything."

Mary ran to her room, her hosting duties forgotten. Even if she could convince Dickon that she still wanted him—well, she was outright angry with him! It was a new and novel feeling. Being angry with Dickon…she'd never contemplated it. He'd always promised she'd be as safe as a mistle thrust with him. That he would never harm her. She'd trusted that, trusted him. And now she had found out that he could hurt her, and hurt her more than she'd ever been hurt before.

"Everything is truly ruined. No matter what Dickon believes, we can never go back to the way it was. I feel so wretched!" Mary said to herself, and then threw herself on her bed, determined to develop a headache that would keep her from the company for the rest of the day and evening.


	6. Chapter 6

Mary suffered through the hunting party.

Over drinks and cigars one of the other men had the effrontery to ask Lord Ramsey if he had an announcement to make, and Lord Ramsey made it very clear that his inclinations and expectations had changed. He no longer wanted Mary. This information made it around the party very quickly, as such news often does.

Dickon did not stay away, and although he must have heard that Lord Ramsey had been mistaken in her regard, but he made no effort to find time alone with Mary, and he also made no effort to apologize to her.

Soon the hunting party left, and Mary and Colin and Lord Archibald had the house to themselves. Well, they and the legion of servants they employed.

Weeks passed, and Dickon continued to be conspicuously absent. Colin at first attributed his absence to the fact that he was taking over the practice of the other doctor and had much to do, and Mary knew that must be part of it, but she feared he was avoiding her. She supposed it was only fair, as she frequently pretended not to be home or plead some prior business on the few occasions he did visit.

She and Dickon could not speak together in company without betraying a certain coldness that puzzled both Archibald and Colin.

Mary didn't know which she missed more, her dependable friend or the man she loved. Dickon had always been the one who would listen to all her complaints. True, he rarely commented, but he was always sympathetic. It seemed wrong to talk to Colin about it, and Martha was Dickon's brother.

Eventually the choice was taken from her. Colin found Mary working in the garden and asked her directly what was wrong between her and Dickon.

"He told me that anything that was between us was over and had been for years. I thought at first it was because he had heard rumors about me and Ramsey, but now it seems that he found Ramsey's attention to me to be a convenient excuse not to spend time with me," Mary said. It was a difficult blow to her pride to admit these things to Colin.

"I can't believe that. Mary, have you never seen the way he looks at you?"

Mary said nothing. She didn't want to think about Dickon. The roses had been so beautiful this year, and it was awful to have to see them in this state now that it was the fall.

"I'm going to talk to him," Colin said.

"About me? But you can't. Please, promise me you won't. He isn't the person I thought he was. I thought he would never hurt me," Mary said.

Colin looked at Mary for a long moment. Finally he spoke: "Mary, sometimes I think you're terribly unfair to Dickon."

"What? Are you serious? The man broke my heart, and you're blaming me!"

Colin paused again, and stood and looked away from Mary. "I sometimes think you confuse Dickon with a pixie or a fairy or some mythical creature that can do no wrong. He has been amazingly kind to you—to us. But he's a man just as I am. If I had done what he had done, what would your reaction have been?"

"But that's different. I can't run after him and force him to apologize and love me again. It just isn't done. Not with someone you love—romantically. Besides, I can't go running after someone like Dickon," Mary said.

"Why, because he's so far below you? You like him worshiping at your feet or not at all?"

Mary felt the injustice of Colin's words, but the fact that there was a certain amount of truth to them made tears sting in her eyes. "Leave me alone," she begged. He stood there for quite a while as Mary cried, and then he did leave without another word.

Later that day she made sure that Colin wasn't going to talk to Dickon, but she went to talk to Martha. Martha would know what was in Dickon's heart, and she might be persuaded to tell Mary.

"I know nowt about that," Martha said quickly, as soon as Mary brought up Dickon's feelings for her.

"So he hasn't even spoken about me before?" Mary asked.

Mary's pain must have been evident in her face, because Martha put a comforting hand on Mary's arm. "Our Dickon has loved thee for a long time," she said. "He dun't speak of it. We thought he knew his feelings wun't be returned."

"We've had an understanding! He said he would marry me," Mary said.

"Marry thee?" Martha asked, shocked. "Why, all the village would call him an upstart, they would. Marry thee? But tha art the lady of the manor. Tha would be better to marry tha own cousin."

"Martha! You make it sound as though I only want to marry him because there's no one else who will marry me. That isn't so. I've loved him since I was a child," Mary said.

"Ach—mother did wonder about all this mixing with the great folk," Martha said.

"I'm not great folk! My father was a simple military man," Mary protested. "I'm a penniless relation to a lord."

"Tha art a beauty, who can marry who tha wish, and thy father wuh an officer," Martha said.

Mary felt a certain amount of sympathy for Dickon. If he was avoiding her out of some kind of loyalty to his fellow villagers, it didn't seem so bad, on one hand, but it seemed like their differences might be insurmountable, on the other hand. "What about the fact that he's a doctor now? Don't people call Dickon an upstart for that?"

"That's different," Martha said. "It's summat different to better oneself though schooling than to marry so far above tha sen."

"I don't think it is different. Maybe Dickon's afraid of what people will say about him—but he was afraid before and it turned out well all around. He won't know unless he tries. And I can't help but feel there must be something more."

"Tha mun ask him, then," Martha said.

Mary hesitated to do that. She didn't want to find out that Martha was wrong, and Dickon had simply been young and hadn't seen much of the world when he told her he loved her. He had been gone a long time. He could have fallen in love with anybody. He could have had a grand affair that made their few stolen kisses seem like childish games. But if that were true, why wouldn't he just tell her?

Mary tried to remember everything that Dickon had said to her about his feelings. There were only a few conversations, and she had replayed them so often in her head over the years that she had them almost memorized.

Dickon had said that if she fell in love with someone better than him, she should marry him. Perhaps he had seen the expectation on other's faces or had been told by someone that she would make a brilliant match if she only accepted Ramsey. But Dickon had always been so self-confident. Why wouldn't he have asked her, if that was the case?

Finally Mary decided she would do the one thing she had dreaded more than talking to Dickon outright, and that was to talk to her uncle.

"Uncle Archibald, did you say anything to Dickon about the possibility of my marrying Lord Ramsey?" Mary asked.

"Of course I did. Dickon's an old family friend, and at the time it seemed like a forgone conclusion. I made no secret of the fact that I approved of your choice—or what I thought was your choice. You seemed to flirt with Ramsey and give him all the little attentions that betray a woman's interest in a man. He's a nice, handsome man, with a title, no less, who loves country life and lives nearby. What more could you want?"

"Love!" Mary blurted out. Had she really flirted with Ramsey? She remembered her annoyance with Serena when she had flirted with Ramsey, and suspected it was true. Would it have gone any further if Dickon had not shown up? No. She couldn't believe it was anything more than harmless flirtation. She liked Ramsey, or had liked him before his presumptuous proposal, but she _loved_ Dickon.

She knew Uncle Archibald was a romantic soul at heart. Somehow she'd never seen him as an obstacle to her romantic happiness. He smiled kindly at her words. "Of course. If I had known you didn't love him, I would never have said anything."

"What if I loved someone who wasn't titled?" she asked.

Archibald tilted his head quizzically. "Mary, you needn't marry a title. You must do what makes you happy."

"What about…a country doctor?" she asked.

"A country doctor? Why of course you could marry—Do you mean Dickon?" he asked, his voice suddenly sharp.

"I know he doesn't have an exalted background, but his family has always been respectable. Even Lord Ramsey can not claim as much," she said.

"I never thought—this is all because I allowed you to convince me to send him to school, isn't it? I should have foreseen this," he said.

Mary lowered her head, convinced that he was disappointed in her, or Dickon, or possibly himself. "I always loved him. I didn't ask you to educate him so I could marry him. I was just a little girl. But I—I would have loved him anyway, educated or not. I know it. He's so kind, so gentle. Everybody loves him. And, he loved me back, at least for a while."

"So, he hasn't asked you to marry him?" Archibald asked. Mary hated the relief she heard in his voice.

"Would it be so terrible? I'm not a dog, to be breed with a man of the correct pedigree. He's perfectly respectable, and you said yourself a country doctor would be a fine man for me to marry. None of your guests would look at him as below me, unless they knew his family."

"Do you think Dickon will distance himself from his family?"

"No! Never. I wouldn't want him to. But if you're worried about your great London friends gossiping, then they wouldn't even think to ask if his father was a coal miner were we to join you for dinner. And if they did—what's so terrible about being a working man, or being related to one? Coal miners and maids and farmers keep this country running. I refuse to be a snob, and I thought better of you."

Archibald was taken aback. "I suppose you're right. You have a new fire in you when you speak of him, one I recognize from my youth and can't argue with. Knowing how I felt about my wife, I could never keep you from the one you love. I gather the two of you are estranged right now, but I promise you that if he comes and asks for my approval, I will give it to him without question."

"Thank you," Mary said.

Dickon must have seen how happy Archibald was to see her apparently settled on a rich, titled gentleman. After all Lord Crane had done for him, there was no way he would want to cause Archibald any grief. She would just have to convince Dickon that all her uncle wanted was for the both of them to be happy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: This story was inspired by something I read about Alexander Fleming saving Winston Churchill's life when he was drowning when they were both children, and Churchill's father paying for Fleming's education as a doctor because it was the only reward he wanted. The story goes on to say that Fleming developed penicillin and during WWII Fleming's penicillin saved Churchill's life again. According to Wikipedia, this story is a "fable", but I still like the idea. **

Mary waited nervously for her appointment to begin, and as she did, she looked around the doctor's office. Since country doctors mostly made house calls, the office was in the doctor's home and used infrequently, but old Doc Hamilton had still decorated it in luxurious oak paneling. The waiting room, at least, looked very much like her uncle's study.

When Dr. Hamilton had retired, he had moved away, so his large, well-appointed home had presumably come with the practice. It was as big as or bigger than any reasonably well-off gentleman's home that Mary had ever seen and more luxuriously decorated than most. Mary seemed to remember there were two parlors and at least six bedrooms. Dr. Hamilton had certainly not lived in genteel poverty, and Mary knew that he had had no income from his family. There was a stable and land in the back—they could have horses for riding even if it became necessary to one day buy an automobile. The house smelled delicious, too, and Mary wondered if Dickon's mother was somewhere within baking, or if Dickon had hired a staff.

"Mary? The doctor will see you now," the receptionist said.

She was told to sit on an exam table and wait for the doctor. Mary's heart pounded in her chest. What if she had misread everything? What if he loved—say—that receptionist. She was very pretty. Mary suddenly hated her.

"Mary?"

She looked up. It was Dickon. She was extremely nervous with Dickon for perhaps the first time since he had told her that he loved her. She didn't know what to say.

"I didn't think you would want me for your doctor," Dickon said.

"No—I do," Mary said. Being tongue tied was a novel experience for her and she didn't appreciate it.

"What's the problem, then?" Dickon asked.

Mary noticed for the first time how professional Dickon looked. He had a confident stance that Mary found, well, sexy. She still couldn't make her brain and her mouth work right. It was terribly distressing. What was she supposed to say? You are good enough for me? My uncle doesn't object? Do you still love me? She really hadn't thought the visit through. She had some half formed hope that if she had simply appeared in front of Dickon, he would do all the work. He would take her in his arms and demand she forget the whole world and say she belonged to him. It didn't seem to be happening.

"I umm—wanted to see your office," she said after a long pause.

Dickon smiled slightly and sat down at the large desk. "What do you think?"

"Well, I have been here before, obviously. But you do look remarkably well in this setting. You look very…at ease with your new position," Mary said.

"You're not the first to come and see if Dickon the animal charmer really made good and actually could pull off being a doctor," he said.

"I had no doubts," Mary said.

Dickon's smile finally reached his eyes. "I seem to remember this whole thing being your idea, so I wouldn't think you'd be the one with doubts."

"Did you ever come here when you were a little boy?"

"I never got sick. Not with anything I would need to see a doctor about, money being tight and all. But I do remember coming here with my mother once. I don't remember what for. I waited for her in that rather imposing waiting room. I felt like I was visiting the prime minister."

"That's the way I felt when I first went in to talk to my uncle. I couldn't believe how grand his study was," she said. Mary realized she was making small talk. How could she make it stop? Every time she thought of how to say what was in her heart, her throat closed up on her.

"Mary, I wanted to apologize for how I acted that day I rode Midnight. I know you've been angry with me, and I can understand why. I was presumptuous, and angry about something that was not your fault. I should have been kinder. I'm sorry. I suppose I just—still had some idea that there might be something between us. When I spoke to your uncle, I realized that there never could be, and that you had probably outgrown thinking about me like that. Now, I hope we can get past that whole thing, and just be friends and neighbors."

"I don't know what to say," Mary said. Now, that was an understatement. Suddenly the small talk seemed preferable. He had basically reduced their entire love affair into something—past tense, mind you—that was better grown out of. Suddenly the reason Dickon had been staying away became quite clear to Mary. He had told her it would take him years to get over her. Perhaps he had been steeling himself to make an apology that wouldn't become a declaration of love. Perhaps, like herself, he was trying to stop himself from kneeling on the floor and begging to be taken back.

"Well, my offer of friendship stands, no matter how long it takes for you to accept it. Right now I suppose I should ask you if there if you have any medical complaints, and then let you get on with your day," Dickon said.

"I—it hurts," Mary said. She was starting to feel tears in her eyes. It really did hurt!

"What hurts? Where do you hurt?"

Mary couldn't be imagining the concern in his eyes. She couldn't be reading into the situation to find a scenario where he still loved her. She had to be right.

"Right here," she said. She pointed to her heart.

Dickon looked concerned for a moment, and then understanding dawned. "Mary, tha canna start this again."

"I never stopped," she said. She was crying in earnest now, and Dickon appeared to be quite distressed. She noticed he'd started speaking in Yorkshire again, and hoped that meant she was getting to him.

"Mary, I've only just managed to stop snarling at people I love and drinking myself to sleep every night. Martha said she barely recognized me. I've accepted that I will have a life without you, now. I can't do it all over again," Dickon said. "Can't we just pretend nothing ever happened between us?"

"How can you accept that? I can't accept that. I want to be your wife. I thought we promised each other that I would be your wife years ago. Did I misunderstand? Did something change? Why can't we be happy, together?"

"I owe your uncle so much more than that," he said.

"I talked to him. He said he would give his consent, if you ever asked for it. He wants me to be happy—he wants you to be happy, too, for that matter," Mary said.

"I'll never believe it was as easy as all that," Dickon said.

"I had to convince him. But I did. He knows there is no other way I can be happy. It's all right in front of you. Me, and our life together. All you have to do is reach out and take it," Mary said.

Dickon stood still, as if he was afraid to move. "I couldn't be so ungrateful to your uncle. He must regret the day he paid for my schooling. He must hate me."

"I don't care if he does!"

"But I do," Dickon said.

Mary wondered how much of Dickon's refusal had to do with what Martha had talked about. Would people really call him an upstart? Probably. Was he such a coward that he would rather not marry her because of it? Mary was suddenly worried that he was. However, knowing him as she did, she thought he probably was worried about hurting her uncle more than anything else.

Mary smiled to herself. Suddenly everything was different. He still loved her. She had thought he did, but now to know that he loved her—well, it changed things. She hopped off of the exam table and Dickon got up as well.

Mary threw her arms around his neck. "I'll convince you somehow," she said.

"No, Mary—" Dickon started to say, but Mary stopped him with a kiss.

She held on tight, and kissed him as thoroughly as she could. She noticed that Dickon didn't fight her on this issue, and in fact, very soon he was kissing her back and holding her tightly. Mary pulled away, but didn't stop holding him. He kissed her cheek, her closed eyes, her neck…

"Mary, Mary, we have to stop this," he said, but when she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he was smiling. He wanted her. He loved her.

And she was going to have him, no matter what he had to say about it.


	8. Chapter 8

Once again, she greeted Dickon warmly. He looked around furtively, as though wondering if anyone else suspected what she was doing, and then excused himself to go speak to one of his neighbors.

Mary had made it her occupation to be where he was. He wouldn't be able to ignore their mutual feelings for long if she was everywhere he was. And he wouldn't be able to say that she was too far above him if she went to every village function, and made his friends her own.

She admitted to herself that Colin might have been right. She might have been a bit of a snob—seeing Dickon as separate from others with his background because of his education or his sometimes otherworldliness. When she spent time at village dances and with the farmer's families, she realized that although she wouldn't be talking to them about Greek philosophers or impressionist art, they were every bit as respectable or interesting as gentlemen and gentlewomen. And quite possibly more fun!

Uncle Archibald supported her newfound interest in the "lesser" families of the area. Mary was certain he suspected her reasons, but he had always gone out of his way to be friendly with all the families of the district and was glad to see her do the same.

Although in some places Mary might have been viewed as an interloper, in the small country village she was seen as an elegant addition to their parties and fairs, and treated with cautious respect. Mary hoped soon that respect would lessen and become the simple friendliness of neighbors.

While Mary made new friends and began to become an essential part of the village social scene, Dickon seemed to grow more and more pained each time he saw her. If she hadn't been so determined to bend him to her will, she might have actually felt sorry for him. She often noticed him looking at her from across crowded ballrooms or busy market stalls. His expression was not always pained and lovesick, however. Much of the time it seemed almost absent minded, although he had forgotten how _not_ to gaze at her.

Mary had no qualms about speaking to Dickon, flirting with him, or angling for invites to dance or stroll with him. She was not simply trying to remind him that she existed, but to make it impossible for him to ignore his feelings for her. He took her attentions with good grace, but tried to avoid touching her unless absolutely necessary. She made certain that she touched his arm or hand at every opportunity.

Although she knew he still loved her and that her torture was working, she wondered if she was just making them both miserable. He didn't seem to be caving. He was determined to let her go—and she didn't know how to make him see that his determination was misplaced. She didn't want him to decide to be with her in spite of his better judgment and then feel guilty. She wanted him to know in his heart that their relationship would be wonderful for everyone, including her uncle.

Mary called herself back to the ball she was currently at. She and her Uncle had attended every year, but this year it was different. She knew so many more families, and she enjoyed being able to greet them by name and ask them about their lives. It hadn't been all snobbishness that had kept her from village life. Although she had worked hard to conquer the social ineptitude which had left her sour and bitter as a child, it was frequently easier to adopt an air of elegant hauteur than to make an effort to be liked and then be rejected. The effort required to make friends had almost seemed like wasted time as she had assumed that rejection would be the most frequent response.

She was finding, however, that the more she made herself available to people, the easier it was relate to them as friends. It seemed to require less effort, too.

The dancing had started, and Mary's gaze went immediately to Dickon. He was dancing with Martha. It was an acceptable and expected dodge. He was too considerate of the village girls' feelings to dance with them overmuch. He didn't want to have more than one young lady trailing him with lovesick eyes, she suspected.

"Your young man is determined to stay away from you, isn't he?" Uncle Archibald said.

She didn't take her eyes off Dickon. He was smiling, but his enjoyment was dimmed. Was it because of her, or was it just because he was grown up now? He had always taken such simple enjoyment out of life. She hoped that wasn't something about him that had changed. Truly, she didn't know him very well anymore. "He doesn't want to take advantage of all you've done for him," she said absently.

"What if I gave him permission to court you?" he asked.

She looked at her uncle. "I don't think he'll ask for permission to court me," she said.

"We could just pretend that he asked. I could simply walk up to him and tell him, I've given it a lot of consideration, and I feel that I will give you permission to court my niece," he said.

"That isn't really done," she said stiffly. She was beginning to feel like a charity case. She was surprised the housekeeper hadn't offered to intervene.

"Would you rather have your pride or him? I have spoken to Colin about this. He told me your attachment to Dickon is long standing and not likely to change. He also loves you both more than anyone else in this world, and wants to see you happy. He has instructed me to do all that is in my power to see the two of you united by the time he returns for Christmas break," Uncle Archibald said.

Mary smiled slightly. "That was rather authoritarian of him."

"He's determined that it would be a crime if your pride and Dickon's consideration for my feelings keep the two of you apart any longer than necessary. I think that as your uncle, I really don't need to ask your permission to speak to the boy about his intentions."

"No?" Mary asked.

"No. I feel I should perhaps notice the inordinate amount of time the boy spends staring at you, and dispense my lordly permission for the courtship to begin."

"He knows I persuaded you to agree to our marriage already," Mary said. "I don't think you can make it seem as though you came upon the idea of our courting being a splendid idea spontaneously."

"I will simply tell him that I am not keen on the two of you marrying, but I believe I shall give the two of you a chance by allowing a courtship. Maybe if he feels there is something he can do to convince me, some way to prove himself…"

"You have to be the best, kindest, most beautiful uncle in the entire world!" Mary said, throwing her arms around him.

"I know what it's like to have what some people view as an uneven match. I did hope to spare you from it. My wife was so beautiful—most people believed that she could never really love me, with my deformity. They thought I was a fool for loving a woman who would betray me and she was a conniver who only wanted my money and position. We found that the best revenge was to be happy."

"I wish you and my aunt had had more time together," Mary said.

"If I can see you and Colin as happy as we were, I know it will be a fitting tribute to the love we shared. You must promise me that you will do whatever you can to insure Colin's happiness when he finds a woman to share the rest of his life with."

"Of course! I've already promised him to keep my eyes open for brainy females," she said.

"He has the best of intentions, but I suspect he might end up with the most impractical, flighty of females. 'The course of true love never did run smooth', as they say," he said.

"That would indeed be entertaining. Above all she must have a strong will, and not cower easily. Colin can still unleash his temper and act imperiously," Mary said.

"I will visit your young man as soon as I am able to without causing suspicion. But right now, take my arm and I will make it nearly impossible for him to refuse to dance with you," he said.

They went to the side of the room where Dickon was seated and spoke to Dickon. Archibald told Dickon his niece was eager to dance. Dickon dutifully took her arm and led her onto the floor.

"I never thought your uncle would want you to stand up with me," he said. If Mary noticed that he held her just a little too closely, she wisely refrained from making any comment.

"Why not? You're my oldest friend, and perfectly respectable," she said.

"I'm hardly your kind," he replied. Upon saying the words he seemed to consciously distance himself from her, widening the circle of their arms as they waltzed.

"What's the difference? I'm no where near as important as Colin. My grandfather on my father's side was a merchant, and on the other my grandfather was a gentleman, but just barely. You couldn't find a nobleman on my family tree anywhere. My aunt—Colin's mother—was fortunate to make such a wonderful match—she was strictly middle class."

"You could have made a match equally as brilliant," Dickon murmured, but he had moved closer again.

Mary felt a thrill course through her body as she smelled that delicious Dickon smell. She couldn't define it, exactly—it was woodsy and comforting and smelled vaguely of earth. "It wouldn't have been nearly as brilliant because my aunt loved my uncle. I would never agree to a loveless marriage simply for the sake of status. I don't care for status, and I wouldn't want to end up miserable like my mother was. She could barely bring herself to look at me, and she filled up her days with an endless whorl of parties so she couldn't tell how miserable she was."

"I'm sorry Mary," Dickon said. "I never knew."

"That my mother didn't love me?" Mary asked. She bit her lip, wondering why she had spoken of something from so long ago in the midst of a beautiful party. And while she was dancing with Dickon! "I wasn't much worth loving back then."

"Don't blame yourself. You've been extremely lovable for the entire time I've known you," Dickon said.

The song ended and Dickon led her towards the area of the room where her uncle was standing. "I was always kind to you. I was so afraid if I wasn't you'd see me the same way everyone else did and have nothing more to do with me," she said.

Dickon led Mary on a sudden change of course, pointing their feet towards the open door to the terrace. He steered her into a darkened corner of the garden and kissed her abruptly, roughly, and probably much more thoroughly than he had intended.

Mary was dazed and as breathless as if she'd run a mile. "Why did you do that?" she asked, "not that I have any objections…"

Dickon's face was close to hers, and he was gasping for breath as much as she was. He trailed a finger down her face and kissed her tenderly once more. "I wanted you to know that, even though we can't be together, I'll always love you. Always. Even if you contrive to see me every day just to torture me."

"Kiss me again," she murmured.

Dickon said nothing, but took her back to her uncle. She could only hope her uncle's plan would work. And in the meantime, she could live off the memory of those kisses for quite some time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: Quite possibly the final chapter. I haven't decided yet. Thank you to all reviewers and readers—it's easy to stay motivated when you know someone out there is waiting for the next installment.**

"What did he say next?" Mary asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"He didn't say anything. He went very still, the way he does when he's approaching some wild thing—"

"Yes, I know just what you mean!"

"—and then he nodded his head and said thank you my lord. I'll do my best to be a credit too you," Archibald said.

"Be a credit to you? Does he think he _has_ to court me now?"

Archibald sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "There is such a thing as over thinking things, Mary. When's the last time he told you he loved you?"

"A couple of days ago," Mary said.

"I doubt he's changed his mind since then. And I suspect if he had, you would do something to change it back good and proper," Archibald said. Mary thought she saw a sideways grin at her expense. She almost told him he could outright laugh at her and she wouldn't mind. After what he'd done to enable her to have the man she wanted—and a man that almost anyone in their right mind and in her uncle's social class would forbid her to marry—he could hire someone to write a satire about her life and pay to have it performed in London for all she cared!

For the next few days Mary lived in agony, possibly agony that rivaled what Dickon had been experiencing at the height of her social torture. She couldn't stop thinking about what might happen. Would he really come to court her? Would bring her gifts? What gift would Dickon find appropriate? She hoped it wouldn't be a baby squirrel or something. What would he wear? Did he still love her? What was taking him so long?

Finally, about a week after her uncle had spoken to him, a card arrived while Mary was pretending to do needlework. "Dr. Dickon Sowerby," she read, and then instructed the butler to show the man to the parlor in a strangled voice.

"I will not panic, I will not panic, it's only Dickon," Mary whispered. When she looked up at him she saw the earnest boy he had once been, rosy cheeks and all. Lately he had been so subdued, almost somber. The change, the look on his face, was actually daunting—his eyes sparkled with interest and appreciation, and _love_, and his grin was bigger than she'd seen it in years. Had she done that? Had she actually made him _that_ happy? Mary felt awash with a keen sense of responsibility. She never wanted him to stop looking at her that way—not ever.

"Hello," she said her voice expressionless. Dickon winced, and she suspected she thought she was angry with him. Couldn't he tell she was scared out of her wits, so scared her stupid voice had stopped working right?

"I've come to take you for a walk," he said.

Mary felt her heart slowing to a normal rate and walked towards him. "That sounds lovely," she said. Her voice had warmed considerably, and Dickon smiled and offered her his arm.

They walked past smiling servants who obviously knew in the near-clairvoyant way servants had that this was not the same as the other visits the doctor had paid to their mistress. Or perhaps Dickon or Martha had told them—or perhaps they could read their faces just as well as Mary had read Dickon's.

When they walked into the grounds Mary finally felt normal—or as normal as she could when Dickon's firm hold was burning a hole in her arm. She felt filled with nervous energy, strange joy, and she laughed even though Dickon hadn't said anything yet.

Dickon bent his head to look at her face. "Does it make you happy to take my arm and walk with me, Mary?" he asked softly.

"More happy than I can say," she said. She looked up into his round blue eyes—like the sky over the moor, she'd always thought.

"Tell me about school," he said.

Mary told him a rambling story about her friend Helen and the Headmistress and stolen rutabaga. Dickon laughed and asked questions and never let go of her arm. She asked him to tell her a story about school. "Don't tell me you were catching up the entire time you were at school. What was it like, the first year you were away?"

"It was lonely. I'd never lived in a place where everyone was so—alone. So independent. I was always covered in little brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and ponies. We lived in that little house, all together, practically on top of one another. And suddenly I was surrounded by people, but they were all very self-contained and private. But if I was lonely, I would go out into the field and look up into the sky and know it was the same sky that my family, and Colin, and you were looking up at. It made it better. I've never been good a brooding. I made friends quickly, even if I did sound common."

"You've never been common in your life," Mary said.

"What did you miss the most?"

"The garden, and Colin, and you, and Ben Weatherstaff, and Uncle Archibald, and the robin," Mary said.

"The most," Dickon said.

"I suppose…I missed the quiet, the peace of this place. It was the peace you helped give me, you and the garden, when I came here all knotted up inside. But it was hard to feel that again. The peace. Everything was a competition, or a game, or a race to get first standing. We never just sat, and smelled the rain, and drank in the cool, dewy morning breezes. But it was fun. Awfully fun," Mary said.

"My best friend was Thomas Crawford. He lives in Devonshire—surely you'll meet him, sometime in the future. He was always the first one to start mischief, but he wasn't mean. I couldn't be friends with the mean ones. I just didn't understand it. They made fun of me at first, but stopped when they realized it didn't hurt me, it just confused me."

"I'm sure they stopped because they found out how open-hearted and kind you are," Mary said.

"They were boys, Mary, not maiden school marms," Dickon said. His smile was half-hearted. "I just didn't understand cruelty for no reason—or for fun. It seemed silly to me. The boys at that school had so much. They always had food to eat and their own rooms and shelves full of books and pin money for whatever they wanted. What did they have to be mad about?"

"Maybe they were like me, when I lived with my parents. Given everything but what I needed—attention and love," Mary said. An image flashed in her mine of a child she might have one day, with eyes like the sky over the moor, and she instantly dispelled it, not daring to hope. "Tell me more about your friend," she urged.

"Thomas was always bedeviling the house master, but he never did anything really _bad_. He was the one who coached me to speak in a more educated fashion, although I suspect you wouldn't thank him for that."

Mary said nothing, trying not to fixate on the "sometime in the future" in which she would meet Dickon's friends. At their wedding? Or a long country visit when they were actually married?

Mary now saw her uncle's wisdom in downgrading their attachment from engaged to courting. It was much less scary to think of courting Dickon than to think of marrying him. Or being married to him. But it was deliciously frightening, like a scary story whispered under the covers during a storm.

"Shall we walk back now?" Dickon said.

Mary felt her face twist up in what must surely be a pout. He hadn't even tried to kiss her! But really, it had been perfect. He was courting her. He had taken her for a lovely walk and was still holding on to her arm. But the way he kissed…

"Now Mary, we mun be reasonable, responsible," Dickon murmured. "It wuh a nice walk."

"Can tha tell what's in our thoughts then?" Mary asked.

"Tha thoughts are written all over tha face," Dickon said.

"One kiss? Please?" Mary asked.

She was surprised to see Dickon blush. He smiled and looked at the ground, and then walked, arm in arm with Mary, to a large chestnut tree which, when they stood behind it, would completely block anyone in the house's view of them. "One," he whispered.

It was sweet, chaste, and lacked the desperation and passion of his kiss in the terrace outside the ball. But this one was better, as far as Mary was concerned, because it held the promise of things to come.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I caved to my persuasive reviewers and wrote more, and will continue a bit further…I think my version of Dickon has suffered a little because I have written the entire story from Mary's perspective, and so it's hard to justify his motivations for doing things the way he does (without seeing in his head). Hopefully this chapter shows him in better light. Colin has similarly been shoved to the background. However, the original book was all in Mary's perspective (with perhaps some omniscient elements here and there), and it just felt natural to do the same in this. This chapter is about how real life often intrudes when you least want it to. **

Colin returned home in November. The days were getting shorter, and the north lands were gloomy. There was a cuttingly cold wind blowing persistently over the moor as Colin walked from his carriage into the manor, but the manor was warm and bright in a way that it had never been when he and Mary had been children.

To Mary's dismay, he had brought guests.

She was spared Serena, but had to endure hearing gushing greetings and words of affection brought from Serena to Mary by Serena's brother, who had somehow managed to avoid bringing her along.

Worse yet, Lord Ramsey was among the guests.

Mary had no doubt that he would avoid being alone with her and that his good breeding would make him act extremely polite to her—but she disliked him, and she wondered what effect his visit would have on Dickon.

Dickon and Mary had been courting for almost a month now, and Mary had never been happier or more secure in her hope for continued, lifelong happiness. Dickon was as eager to please as ever, only now he had gone from a kind-hearted, willing lad to a man who put himself out each day to think of new ways to further her happiness.

Their courtship was the talk of the village. Some disapproved (mainly young girls who had hoped that Dickon's elevation to near-gentry might elevate a wife he had known from his childhood in the village, and their mothers), but most saw it as a normal consequence of Mary being no fool, and Dickon having eyes.

The villagers thought Mary would make an excellent doctor's wife, or even a nurse, if she chose. Although she dressed in the same finery as the rest of her class, she had a decided, extremely English practicality and directness about her that reminded one old gent of the late Ben Weatherstaff, and she knew more about gardens than any gentlewoman had a right to. She was delightfully without snobbery, though she was wise enough not to accept just anyone into her society.

Mary was gentry without being a prig about it, and Dickon had really never been common. Men muttered to themselves that they'd always known such a willing, cheerful boy had been meant for better than their lot, and he'd been wise enough at twelve to make friends with that strange, bedridden Master Colin that had been, who they were all sure had bullied his father into educating his friend.

Mary was unaware of all this, and knew only that the glances of the villagers had gone from wary respect and veiled hostility to recognition and even pleasure when she appeared in their field of vision. Many of the farmers and gardeners would come to her with new seeds they had found success with, and questions about problems they were having. When she had first learned to love England as a child, being a part of English country life had been her dearest wish, and if her happiness was any indication, she had never really grown out of it.

As she prepared for dinner that night, she wished her cousin had more sense than to bring Lord Ramsey home without letting her know first. He could manage to understand complicated equations and chemical processes, but he could never seem to manage simple protocols for inviting guests—especially one's who had once offered to marry his cousin.

Dickon was coming to dinner, and she didn't know how he would react. She wished she could be certain that the new dimensions of their relationship would protect him from uncertainty and doubt, but she couldn't help but feel nervous that that might not be the case.

Dickon arrived dressed splendidly for dinner. Mary had not spent much time on her appearance as she had been too nervous, but he looked at her appreciatively nonetheless.

She greeted him at the door of the parlor and led him in, taking his arm gratefully. He had met many of the guests before, and he showed no special surprise or interest when he saw that Lord Ramsey was of the party. Mary stopped just short of breathing a sigh of relief. She knew now how things can go wrong if left alone, so she drew Dickon aside to ask him how he felt about Ramsey's presence.

"I'd rather he wasn't here, but I can hardly fault him for his taste in women," Dickon murmured close to her ear.

Mary shivered, wishing he was telling her something naughtier than his feelings about some man in that low rumble. "I'm very glad to see you here. You look wonderful," she replied.

"Perhaps we can sneak away to the garden later on tonight," Dickon said, "You, me and Colin."

Mary wrinkled her nose. She had almost been extremely interested in his idea, but Colin? "Why do you want Colin? If we bring Colin, we might as well stay in the house, where it's warm."

"Colin is your cousin and my dear friend," Dickon said innocently. Perhaps a little too innocently.

"You are joking, aren't you?" Mary asked. Her mouth curved upwards reluctantly.

Dickon smirked. "I need someone along to protect my virtue," he murmured.

Mary glared and his smirk became a full laugh, and then she gave up the fight and laughed along with him. That was one consequence of having her feelings for Dickon out in the open which she had not foreseen. She had never particularly liked being teased, but his teasing was never cruel, and only assured Mary of his confidence in her affection.

Colin approached with an apology for interrupting their tete a tete and began quizzing Dickon on village life and the practice he had taken over.

"It's a very prosperous practice in some ways, although sometimes the only payment I get is a chicken, or a fat hog, or fresh trout from the stream. I may never be rich, but my farm continues to grow and I will never be hungry," Dickon said.

"That sounds like a desirable situation for taking a wife and raising a family," Colin said.

Mary blushed. Although for years she had known she wanted to marry Dickon, now that they were following the slow and steady course laid out by her uncle and by Dickon himself, her cousin's talk of marriage and children seemed to be prematurely rushing them towards a particular destination. One she was quite willing to arrive at, but which, since the journey was so very pleasant, she felt no need to rush.

Dickon sidestepped the comment skillfully and asked Colin about his work. Mary had a vague understanding of what it entailed, but little real interest, so she let her eyes wander about the room.

The party was mostly gentlemen, although Allanby had brought his wife, a lovely, shy girl who had twice told Mary that she had not brought enough dresses for a week of dinners in such elevated company. Mary excused herself and went to offer the girl a dress to borrow for the following evening, when she was pulled aside and then into a dark hallway by Lord Ramsey.

"I stopped at the pub in the village. They tell me your handsome doctor's father is a coal miner. And his sister was a maid in this very house. And you refused me, who loves you more than I can say, for him?" he said. He was gripping her arm uncomfortably, but he spoke too softly for anyone else to hear, steps away in the parlor.

"They are a perfectly respectable family with whom my uncle has been acquainted with his whole life. Martha did go into service for a few years when I was a child to make extra money to help feed her brothers and sisters. I don't think there is shame in helping one's family," Mary said through gritted teeth.

"Indeed. Although I can't say I am personally acquainted with anyone who would go into a coal mine to support a family," he said. He abruptly released her arm.

"Dickon is a man I have known since I first arrived in England. I've known him even longer than I've known Colin. His father is a wonderful man who, in the past, had to work in the mines occasionally when the farm had a bad year. He had to go into the mine for years at a time to keep giving his children the life he feels they deserve. You see, not everyone in England was born a lord," she hissed.

"I'm not a fool, Mary, I know I was born into privilege. What I fail to see is how you could make such a foolish choice. You will not be received by anyone but the people in this village. You'll be a pariah from your own people," he said.

"A pariah? Please. If, for some reason, you are right about other people being as close-minded as you are, and I feel some sudden urge to be "received", I suppose we'll go to America, or Canada or Australia."

"I see you have an answer for everything," Lord Ramsey said darkly.

"I've always felt that perhaps I was a little bit too encouraging to you before, and I should apologize for flirting, and perhaps letting you think that I had tender feelings for you. I did not," Mary said.

Ramsey said nothing, but she saw the muscle in his jaw flex.

"You can't continue to pretend that your disgruntlement has anything to do with feelings for me. It was damaged pride which made you sore. And now finding out what you did about Dickon has convinced you that you're jealous, when really your pride has just taken another blow."

"Think of it this way, mate, if she loved me but had been convinced by your fancy title to marry you, would you even want her?" Dickon asked. Mary had never been so glad to see someone. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He looked incredibly handsome, the shadows emphasizing his features. His stance was relaxed but strangely hard, and Mary felt a thrill knowing he was taking care of her.

"Gentlemen do not eavesdrop," Ramsey said.

"Gentlemen do not accost gentlewomen and pull them into dark hallways to berate them about their romantic choices. And gentlemen keep an eye on women they are particularly fond of, and follow them to make sure they're alright when they're dragged off in what appeared to be a painful manner," Dickon said.

"I did not hurt her!" Ramsey said.

"I only said it appeared painful. Let's not bicker about it. They're about to go into dinner, Mary, and I believe I have the honor of escorting you in," Dickon said.

"Thank you," Mary said, taking his arm. Ramsey made no move to stop them as they moved away. Dickon's arm was firm and his grip strong, as if he suspected she might feel weak. "I'm alright. Just annoyed," she told him.

"I thought about saying nothing and waiting for the explosion, but then I thought about Colin wanting his party to go well, and about your reputation, and I thought I'd step in," Dickon said. Mary looked in his eyes, surprised. She noted they were smiling, though his lips were not.

"You weren't protecting me?"

"I'd charge a grizzly for you Mary, but I doubt you need my protection from the likes of him."

"Did you really think I was going to start yelling? But I was so good. I even apologized to the man," Mary said.

"Yes, and for flirting with him, which I suppose I would take issue with if you didn't look up so adoringly at me at every possible occasion. I had a feeling that if he didn't accept your apology, your apologies being so rare and highly prized by all who know you, you might have lost such control as you had displayed until that point."

"I fear you might be right," Mary said. She giggled and snuggled closer. They were about to be separated by the vast dinning room table. "Will you meet me later, in the garden?"

"When everyone else goes to bed, I'll be waiting. I'm walking home anyway. The moon was so bright last night it was like blue daylight, and it's the full moon tonight. The full moon on a clear night means cool air. Bring a shawl," he said.

"I'll be running, and then I'll be with you," she said.

"And we shall have a few moments together, and then you'll run back to your bed to dream of me," he said as he pulled out her chair.

"I hope so. All my favorite dreams are of you," she whispered, and she sat down.


	11. Chapter 11

Mary was polite but distracted at dinner, and Colin must have noticed. He asked Mary what was bothering her in a low voice as the party waited for dessert to be served.

Mary wasn't about to tell her cousin that she was imagining her secret assignation with Dickon. "Lord Ramsey practically accosted me before dinner and told me Dickon was too poor for me to be in love with. Apparently he finds there to be something terribly immoral about coal mines, too. He positively stewed about Dickon's father going near one. I think he's got them confused with brothels."

Colin, who had unfortunately been taking a sip of wine about the same time that Mary whispered her response, choked with laughter, very nearly spitting it out all over the table, unless Mary was mistaken. As soon as he was able to recover, however, his face grew grave. "I'm a fool. I apologize for inviting him, Mary. I should have known better than to issue him any kind of invitation. He was standing right beside Allanby when I invited him and his wife—it just seemed the polite thing to extend the invitation to Ramsey. But I never thought he would accost you. I'll ask him to leave."

"No," Mary said. She placed a restraining hand on Colin's arm so he could not get up. "I want him to stay. It would only cause talk if he left in the middle of the visit."

"But Mary, he's offended me as well as you. He took advantage of my hospitality," Colin said.

"By all means, don't invite him back," Mary said. She glanced across the table at Ramsey. He appeared to be deep conversation with Mrs. Allanby. "But please don't disgrace me by bring all of this up again. It will only remind everyone that he once told half of London he was going to make me his wife."

"If you're worried about talk, you must know that your eventual engagement to a man with a humble background will cause more talk than anything that happened between you and Ramsey," Colin said.

"If I must live forever in infamous gossip, and I suppose many people, including Mrs. Medlock, would not be surprised if I did, than I would rather it be for something noble, like love, than for Ramsey's lies and conceit," Mary whispered. "Besides, I've always loved Dickon and his whole family. I refuse to be ashamed of people so far above many of the aristocrats I've met in the past."

"But Ramsey's attitude is likely to be quite common," Colin said.

"Yes, in London. I hate it there, and will not be at all unhappy to be shunned by any or all of the toffs, as Dickon used to call them," Mary said.

Colin chuckled again. "I confess my scientific pursuits have left me with more 'common' friends than aristocratic ones. And it is hard to credit that many of those born into privilege seem to think that they are better than everyone else, just because of an accident of birth."

Mary looked at Colin in confusion. "But Colin, you were just warning me about malicious gossip, and implying that I was distancing myself from my peers. I don't understand."

"Call it an experiment. I've recently started to dabble in psychology. The inner workings of the human mind, you see," Colin said.

Mary was not pleased by the twinkle in her cousin's eye, or the fact that he had taken to playing with her inner thoughts, but then the long awaited dessert arrived and Mary forgot to be angry.

Soon the guests were repairing to the parlor for games and conversation. A party had never dragged so for Mary before. She could think of all kinds of ways to thank Dickon for being exactly who he was. She wished she could plead a headache and wait the party out from her room, but she didn't want to worry Dickon, or give Ramsey the satisfaction of chasing her out of her own home.

Instead, she sought out Mrs. Allanby. She had never had the chance to tell her that she was welcome to borrow one of her dresses for the following evening.

Her eyes scanned the room and she saw that Mrs. Allanby was again speaking with Ramsey. Mary pursed her lips. She had just decided not to allow Ramsey to chase her away. She approached the pair and asked to speak with Mrs. Allanby. Ramsey appeared only too happy to distance himself from Mary.

"Is he not the most handsome man you've ever met?" Mrs. Allanby asked.

"There are more important things than looks," Mary answered primly. "Besides, I did not interrupt your conversation to speak to you about Lord Ramsey. I simply wanted to offer you the loan of any evening wear from my wardrobe that you wish for the duration of your stay."

Mrs. Allanby's eyes lit up. "Truly? You are by far the kindest hostess I have ever encountered."

"My wardrobe is simply much bigger than your trunk—so of course I have many more dresses at my disposal. It would be a shame for you to feel uncomfortable while my dresses sit together in a smug crowd in the dark wardrobe."

Mrs. Allanby laughed, and they both joined a card game, which made the hours until all the guests left pass tolerably quickly.

Finally the last guest ascended the stairs, and Mary pretended stay below to check to make sure all the candles were extinguished. In reality, she took the shawl she had hidden in her uncle's study and left the house through the French doors.

Mary smiled to herself, remembering all the times in her life she had snuck off to the secret garden. She had gone when she was confused, sad, depressed, and ecstatic with joy. At times the garden almost seemed like a pillow she could cry into—or a way to turn all her frustration and loneliness into something beautiful.

The night air was crisp, and the moon was so bright she could have seen the uneven rocks in the path if she had chosen to look down. She didn't bother stepping carefully; her path was well known to her and she could have avoided any missteps by memory alone in the darkest night.

She found Dickon by her favorite rosebush. He placed a warm hand along her cool cheek and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Brave Mary. I heard what you said to Ramsey. Those comments won't stop, you know. And they won't all be from people you can't respect."

"I like my life here, in this village. The people here respect both of us. I've made a some friends in my life outside of this village, who may support our choices. They may not. That's up to them. I can only do what makes me happy," Mary said. She shivered, and then put her arms around Dickon, wrapping the both of them in her shawl.

"I love thee," Dickon said. He kissed Mary again, his lips warm and solid. Mary kissed him back firmly, feeling a tingle of pleasure and warmth suffuse through her entire body.

Mary tightened her grip on Dickon's shoulders, feeling his strength and the tautness of his muscles below her hands. She moved her lips to his cheek, inhaling his scent and savoring his nearness. "I love thee," she replied, "More than tha' knows."

A strange noise suddenly came to Mary's attention. "Was that a giggle?" she whispered.

"Shhh," Dickon said.

He pulled Mary into a shadowed corner, and they saw Lord Ramsey and Mrs. Allanby stumble into the clearing.

"They're drunk!" Mary whispered.

"Shhh," Dickon breathed against her ear.

"Kiss me, Anne," Ramsey said. Mary scrunched up her nose. His tone was more demanding than romantic. Apparently Ramsey hadn't changed since his proposal to her.

"I'm married," Mrs. Allanby said, but she giggled again and unsteadily placed a chaste kiss Lord Ramsey's lips.

Ramsey grabbed her as she pulled away and gave her a proper kiss.

Mary felt as though he was taking advantage of Anne Allanby. She wasn't exactly thinking clearly, from the way she was swaying. She looked at Dickon. "She's too foxed to know what she's doing. We have to say something. I'll take Anne back to the house."

"And have Ramsey telling everyone you were here alone with me?" Dickon whispered back. "I can't expose you to that. I'll pretend I was out here alone."

"I could have been out here alone—" Mary began, but Dickon placed a finger on her lips.

"Lord knows what the man would do or say to you in his current condition. Let me handle this," Dickon said.

Without waiting for a reply Dickon coughed loudly and strolled out into the clearing, appearing to have not seen the couple embracing in the centre of the path.

"Were you out enjoying the moonlight?" Ramsey asked as soon as he had untangled himself from his amorous embrace.

"Just clearin' my head. Had a bit too much wine. What're you doin' here?" Dickon was slurring his words in a way that Mary found oddly adorable. She had to struggle not to laugh.

"We—err—we lost our way outside. We came to clear our heads, too. Colin has a potent cellar," Ramsey said. Mary noticed he seemed much more sober now than he had a moment ago. The cad. He had probably pretended to drink while Anne got soused.

"Well, I suppose I'd better show you the way back to the manor. I know it well," Dickon said. He offered Anne his arm and she accepted it, apparently gratefully, swaying slightly with every step as they walked towards the door to the garden with Ramsey following closely behind.

Mary sighed. She had thought tonight they could finally steal more than a few moments together. Everything had been right. The moonlight, the garden, the feel of her arms around him…It was enough to make her consider taking all guest rooms out of her future home.

"Bother!" she exclaimed aloud, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself. She'd been so warm just minutes ago.


	12. Chapter 12

Mary didn't see Dickon at all the next day, or the next. There was influenza in the village, and Dickon was too busy with his patients to attend parties.

"Our village doctor is never too busy to attend parties," muttered one of the guests when Mary informed them what was occupying him.

Mary was about to reply hotly that perhaps the doctor in question should care more about patients than parties, when Colin said something similar in a much nicer way.

Mary sighed. She was losing patience with Colin's guests. They were fine people individually, but she felt like a hanger-on, like an incidental hostess. She knew if she were married she would not be a part of their social group, because she would not be scientific enough or rich enough to fit in with the two types of friends Colin had. It was perhaps symptomatic of Mary's advancing age. She wanted to be settling down in her own house and having her own friends to her own parties, not be the adornment of her cousin's house.

Lord Ramsey had been on his best behavior, but Mary wondered what he'd been up to with Anne Allanby. The woman was avoiding him, and had several times asked about Dickon. Since she didn't know that Mary had seen her kiss Ramsey, she obviously wanted to confirm in some way that Dickon had seen nothing. It was the only thing that would explain the woman's anxiousness to see a man she hardly knew. Although Dickon was a doctor—perhaps she had some medical problem. No—Mary stopped herself from going to the obvious conclusion that perhaps there was a possible pregnancy to be prevented. Anne wouldn't have gone that far, would she?

At any rate it seemed that the affair was over. The pair were rarely in the same room, and Mary hadn't seen them converse since the first night.

Three nights after the incident in the garden Dickon finally managed to sneak away from his patients and visit.

He seemed drawn and tired, but he didn't seem sick at all, and that had been Mary's chief worry.

Mary tried her best to take good care of Dickon even in the middle of the crowded drawing room, and was re-filling his cup of tea when Anne burst into the room in a flurry of tears and flailing arms.

"What ever is the matter?" Mary asked.

Anne looked quickly at Mary, and then focused her attention on Colin. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but your cousin must marry Lord Ramsey!"

Mary felt sick. She glanced at Dickon. The look he sent her back was bleak.

"What are you talking about?" Colin asked.

"I saw them together this morning, before anyone had gotten out of bed. She was sneaking out of his bedroom," Anne said.

Without showing any kind of reaction to Anne's words, Dickon took Mary's hand. "I'm afraid I don't have time for lies and histrionics. I haven't slept in days. I only came for the comfort of being with you for a half hour. I feel terrible leaving you to sort this out."

Mary lowered her voice. "Don't worry, nothing could possess me to marry Lord Ramsey. He and his accomplice may drag my name through any mud puddle in six counties. Shall I visit you tomorrow?"

"I wouldn't want you to become ill," Dickon said.

"You might have to marry me to protect my virtue," Mary joked in a whisper.

Dickon laughed and daringly kissed Mary on the cheek in full view of all the guests. "At this point I might have to marry you to get a few moments alone with you."

After Dickon had left the room, Mary sighed and looked at Colin. "You don't actually believe any of this, do you?" she asked in a voice loud enough to carry throughout the room.

"I don't understand, Anne. Why would you say something like that, even if it is true? It's nothing to do with you," Allanby was saying.

"Let's just all calm down. Either the woman you saw was not my cousin, or you somehow imagined the whole thing. Ramsey is the last man in this county Mary would dally with. Why, she's practically engaged to the doctor," Colin said.

"I—I confronted him about it. He admitted to being with her. In the biblical—as man and wife," Anne stammered.

Mary looked around the room. Most of the guests appeared skeptical, and some were looking at her with what seemed like judgment. She immediately felt the same sense of shame she had felt as a child when other children had teased her and called her "contrary". She almost let the feeling drown her, but she held her head up high. "Well, I don't know what you expect anyone to do about this, Anne. I'm certainly not going to marry Lord Ramsey to protect _his_ virtue, and I don't give two figs for mine, especially since my virtue is still intact and this is all a lie. You may spread your tale as far as the exotic lands I was born in, if you choose. No thinned-voiced little weasel of a gossip is going to make me do anything!"

"My wife is not a weasel!" Allanby said. He took his wife's arm in a protective gesture.

Mary felt like screaming at Allanby that his wife had been kissing Lord Ramsey in the garden several days ago, but couldn't quite go so far as to ruin a marriage, no matter how angry at Anne she was. Had Ramsey used Anne's indiscretion against her, to force her to expose this fictional affair?

"What is this Colin, some new kind of dinner theatre? It's hardly in good taste," one of the guests said.

"Like I said before, this is all a misunderstanding. One which I believe started with me inviting a disgruntled ex-admirer of my cousin's to stay with us," Colin murmured.

"Ex-admirer? It seems the man still admires the girl enough to try to manipulate her into marrying him. Never told me you had it so bad for her, Ramsey," the guest went on.

Mary looked up. Ramsey was at the door. He looked innocent as a new lamb, and as softly handsome as he ever had. Mary felt a great satisfaction for the kind of useful, thoughtful face Dickon had.

"Oh no Mary, she told me she saw you coming out of my room. She hasn't gone and told—" he began. He walked to touch Mary in comfort, and one of the guests actually laughed at him.

"I think the jig is up. Mary's fiancé—you know the one whose arrival you strategically waited for to try to break his heart—didn't even stay for the show, he thought the crime so very unlikely," Colin said.

"But Mary and I—Mary's not engaged," he said.

"I have been secretly engaged for years. I told you that before. I'm beginning to think I'm immensely popular, however. I wonder if I'm some kind of heiress and have just never been told. Why do you want to marry me so badly?"

"I love you Mary. So much. I can't let you go. Not to some no one who wouldn't even know how to speak properly if not for your uncle's charity. He's just a peasant—not even a proper commoner, but a bloody Yorkie farmer with apples in his cheeks and a stupid smile on his face!"

The woman who held the highest rank in the room pealed with laughter. "My dear Ramsey, you're the only one who appears common at the moment. You're making yourself ridiculous. I think you might have to run away to Australia to escape the shame of this. And to think, everyone was sympathetic to you in all this until now!"

With the noblewoman's remarks, the tide turned completely in Mary's favor, and soon Ramsey left in disgust, followed by derisive laughter.

Later that night, Mary knocked on Anne's door. Anne had been hiding upstairs in shame after being laughed out of the parlor.

Anne's husband opened the door and then promptly tried to shut it. "You can't come in here and yell at my wife. She only did what she thought was right."

"I don't want to yell at her, although she would deserve it if I did. I only want to talk to her alone for a moment, to try to understand why she lied," Mary said.

Allanby looked reluctant, but he left Mary alone with his wife. Anne was sitting at the dressing table.

"I don't know what I did to deserve that," Mary said softly.

"You've been very kind. I've laid out the dresses I borrowed from you. Jeffery and I are leaving in the morning," Anne whispered.

"Is it because I lent you dresses? A high crime indeed," Mary said.

"No!" Anne said, "Honestly, I never meant to hurt you. Ramsey said that I should help him protect you from Dr. Sowerby, and that you had told Ramsey you really loved him and wanted to get out of your involvement with a commoner. It seemed so likely—an attachment from childhood which had become an embarrassment. It happens, you know."

"And I suppose it didn't help that you have been dallying with Ramsey. Did he threaten to tell your husband?"

Anne's eyes widened. "So the doctor did see us."

Mary made a sound of exasperation. "Dickon would never gossip about who he saw kissing in the garden. He's a gentleman. I was in the garden with Dickon, doing the same thing you were doing with Lord Ramsey. Or trying to, anyway. The garden has been awfully crowded lately. I hid in the shadows, but I saw with my own eyes that you were betraying that dotting husband of yours."

"And yet you said nothing when I was saying such infamous lies about you, even though you knew my _true_ shame. I shall stay until all of your guests are awake and tell them it was all a lie."

Mary smiled. "It is enough for you to tell them it was a misunderstanding. Perhaps you were confused about where my room was—or where Lord Ramsey's room was. Well, I shall give you the rest of the night to work out your story."

"I'm so very, very sorry," Anne said.

"I only wish Dickon hadn't been so tired. It would have been interesting to see what he would have done to Ramsey if he had been at full strength."

"Do think they would have dueled?" Anne asked.

"Oh please. This is the twentieth century," Mary scoffed.


	13. Chapter 13

Weeks after the disastrous party which had nearly left Mary ruined, she lifted her hand to her brow in sheer fatigue.

Although no one had recently taken ill in the village, and it seemed that the epidemic was now over, everyone had had to pitch in to keep several households afloat. The healthy had taken in their neighbour's young children and cooked broth for the people who were ill. Mary had distributed baskets to those who couldn't cook for their families, but other chores such as laundry and cleaning had gone undone. The rectory was in tatters because the minister had invited several elderly parishioners with no one to care for them to stay with him while they convalesced, and then the housemaids had become ill.

Luckily very few villagers had succumbed to the illness.

When the town was in recovery, several of the women had gotten together and agreed to clean the houses of the people most hard hit by the influenza. Mary had agreed to join the women, of course. Dickon's own mother had asked her, and although she wasn't accustomed to such hard labour, she relished it as it meant the people Dickon had grown up with were finally accepting her into their lives without a second thought.

Mary smiled slightly at the thought of Dickon's quiet defense of her the night of the party. He had total faith in her. Of course, he knew how much she disliked Lord Ramsey, but Mary trusted that now Dickon knew how she felt about him, he would not have doubts about her anymore.

She hadn't seen Dickon much since the illness had started, but that was understandable. He was the only doctor in town, after all. He hadn't gotten sick at all, and Mary felt that his healthy upbringing was responsible for that. She wasn't quite sure why she had not gotten ill, although her uncle had kept her well out of village life during the height of the sickness.

Hearing a male voice, Mary looked up from her work scrubbing the rectory's parlour floor.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Dickon said. Though his words were teasing, his voice was concerned. Mary tried not to look as tired as she felt.

Mary hastily wiped her hands on her apron and stood up, checking to make sure her hair was in some semblance of order. "It's true. Usually I am visiting here, not cleaning the floors. But the maids are still poorly and the minister has been off visiting the families of those poor people who died–so your mother thought we could give the place a good cleaning before he returns."

"My mother is here?" Dickon asked.

"She is. I could find her for you if you like."

"I came to see if Sally still needed to see me today. I have been coming her everyday since she took ill. Do you know if she's out of bed?"

"I think your mother had her doing some light chores outside."

"Then I don't need to see Sally or my mother. Perhaps I could just take the time to talk to you."

Mary smiled. Her back ached and her legs were fairly wobbling. It would be nice to take a break. Mary looked with longing at the lovely clean parlor furnishings, and then decided that she was far too dirty to sit down.

"Come outside and sit on the porch," Dickon said. No one else of her station in life would have immediately known what she was thinking. Most would never think of preserving the furniture because they would know there was always someone around to clean up after them.

Mary almost fell into the porch swing, and snuggled against Dickon when he sat down and put his arm around her. "Being a housemaid is not nearly as fun as being a gardener," Mary complained.

"Well, the floor looked excellent," Dickon said.

"Don't get any ideas. I am planning on increasing your household staff as we speak."

"I think they manage fine. And I don't remember putting you in charge of my household staff," Dickon said. His voice was teasing and Mary glanced and noticed his twinkling eyes.

"You will soon if you know what's good for you," Mary mumbled into his shoulder.

"What was that?" Dickon asked.

Mary was fairly certain he had heard her.

There were sounds of people moving around in the house and Mary remembered she hadn't put away her wash bucket. "Someone is likely going to trip over my wash bucket and make a mess of it. And they're going to fall and break their heads," Mary said.

"Shall I go and put your bucket away for you?" Dickon asked.

"Yes please," Mary said, feeling very much like a small child.

Dickon got up and went into the house. Mary looked around the yard, feeling oddly dizzy and disoriented. She didn't know what to make of the feeling. Only a moment ago the pain in her back had been terrible, now she felt an odd sort of drifting.

"Mary, are you alright? Mary? Oh no, you're burning up. I should been there making sure you didn't over work yourself. Please don't let it be influenza..." It was Dickon's voice, but the words he was saying made very little sense to Mary.

Suddenly she was lifted up into his arms and she knew nothing more for some time.

When Mary woke up, she was in her own bed. She looked around weakly and saw one of the housemaids was sitting by her bed. "What happened?" she mumbled.

"I'll go and get the doctor, miss," Judy said.

Dickon seemed to arrive almost the moment Judy left the room. Either he had been very close or Mary was drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Mary!" Dickon said. He leaned over her and put a cool hand on her forehead. "I never should have let you get sick. I should have been taking care of you."

Mary smiled. "You were taking care of the whole town."

"Mary, you're burning up with influenza. I wish I could take you to my house and watch over you every moment," he said.

"You should have married me when you had the chance," Mary said. She had been trying to sound playful and teasing, but her chapped, cracked lips and dry throat had made the words sound stark and almost prophetic to her ears. Why had they wasted so much time? Of all people, she should have known that healthy people die young all the time. She should have forced him to marry her.

"Mary, don't give up. You're healthy and strong. Please Mary," Dickon said. He wept quietly and his hand clasped hers. She wished he wasn't so sad, but didn't feel guilty. If it was her time, it was her time.

"I'm sorry Dickon," she whispered.

"No! Mary, drink this water, please," he begged.

He held some water for her, but it was awkward to drink it lying down and it tasted terrible.

"No," she said. She tried to push it away, but Dickon cajoled her and she finally took some more. It seemed to go down easier the more she drank, and then Dickon was taking it away.

"I have to go home, Mary. You have wonderful people to look after you here," he said.

"I don't want them. I want you," she said.

"I could stay here in the house but I can't stay in this room overnight with you. Even with a nurse, people will think I am taking advantage of you," he said.

Mary was too tired to argue. She closed her eyes and wished she didn't feel so wretched.

"If ye canna stay in a room with a young lady overnight with tha own mother watching over you, and tha a doctor, too, then is something wrong with the world," Mrs. Sowsbry said. She was standing in the doorway removing her coat and gloves.

"Thank you, mother," Dickon said.

Mary drifted out of consciousness for a time, and when she woke again Dickon put some powder from a slip of paper into a cup of water and stirred it with a spoon. It must be some kind of medicine for her.

"Drink this," Dickon said.

"Has Colin been sent for?" Mary asked. She wanted to know how sick she was. If Colin had been sent for, it would be serious. If not, she wasn't all that worried.

"We've been considering it. Would you like to see him?" Dickon asked.

"I'd like to see him before I die but otherwise I feel no pressing need for him."

"I'll know more in the morning," Dickon said.

"Where is your mother?" Mary asked.

"She's asleep in the chair over there," Dickon said, gesturing towards the far corner.

"When are we getting married Dickon?" Mary asked.

Dickon paused, and then gestured for Mary to take another drink. She drank as much as she could, knowing she needed her strength to bedevil Dickon. "I thought the spring. In the garden."

"I don't think they let people get married in their gardens. But that would be so wonderful. Perhaps we could have a private ceremony afterwards without the minister," Mary said.

"I never got to ask you the way I wanted to. I had it all planned," Dickon said in his teasing way.

"You asked me years ago, didn't you?" Mary asked. She didn't trust her fever ridden memories, not when she'd dreamed the moment so many times.

"I'll ask you again when you're well. But for now, we'll tell everyone we are engaged and we'll be married in June," Dickon said.

"June? That's full summer. Even in May we'll miss the daffodils. I want April. Early to mid April," Mary said.

"Why not go for March and get married in the mud?" Dickon asked.

"I'd marry you tomorrow up to my knees in a swamp," Mary laughed.

"I wanted us to go slow, and for you to have the kind of courtship a girl deserves. I didn't think it very proper to just one day say, 'we've been working in the garden together for rather a long time and I quite fancy you. Let's get hitched'. But I've seen that going on the way we are right now doesn't work. I don't want you at the mercy of Colin's guests without me. I don't want you to get sick and I can't stay with you and take care of you. I want us to start a family."

Mary's eyes filled with tears. "That's a good enough proposal for me. Only you have to promise me something."

Dickon blotted a damp, cool cloth on her forehead. "What's that, my dear?"

"Promise me you won't make all the animals you're being given as payment pets. I do want to eat sometime. And chickens make good meals, now and then."

"I promise you. Only the truly kindred souls I meet will become pets. Ferdie the Duck is actually the only one whom I chat with with any regularity."

"Ferdie the Duck," Mary muttered. _What have I gotten myself into?_ She thought. And then she fell into a dreamless sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

1Mary felt much better the following morning, but she found to her chagrin that even though the fever had broken and she would recover, her strength was depleted to the point where she would have to recover slowly, day by day. She found getting out of bed to sit on her window seat extremely taxing, and after the effort of getting dressed, even with the maid's help, she only wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.

She tried to keep her goals achievable and not overwork her body, but for a relatively busy person it was very difficult to be immobilized. Also, she found reading strained her eyes and made her head hurt, so she could not even exercise her mind. She was filled with a discontented boredom which bordered on rebellion, although there was no one to rebel against. If she pushed her body to move more than it was able it would simply shut down. Mary found no matter how hard she tried to fight against her own weakness, she could not win the fight.

The feeling reminded her of her fretful, illness ridden days in India when she always felt bad and grumpy. She wanted to get better, and so she wanted the garden, and fresh air, and exercise. That was what had made her healthy as a child, and it was what had helped Colin, too. If only it were spring, Dickon probably would have let her take air and exercise in the hopes that it would help her regain her strength. However, he was worried that she would receive a chill, so any excursions were brief and she was bundled up well.

Dickon visited her daily. Occasionally he brought cards and well wishes from the villagers. Everyone had known their engagement was coming, and having a date set made all the lovesick girls go back to their previous sweethearts and they now wished Mary and Dickon well.

Mary knew that she would have to have a relatively huge wedding. Although it was common to invite virtually the entire parish to a wedding, it was rare for everyone to actually attend. Even those people in the community who knew Mary and Dickon only slightly would likely come just out of curiosity. Mary didn't mind being part of an odd couple, or that some people would only come to see the wedding to see the son of a coal miner marry the ward and niece of the local lord, as long as people who disapproved of the union stayed home or kept their opinions to themselves.

Mary settled into a routine. She would wake up, eat breakfast in bed, get out of bed and sit by the window and read her letters, and then have a morning nap. She would then wake up and have lunch in her room, and then after lunch get dressed and go downstairs. She would sit with her uncle in the study and reply to her letters, and she would do some reading or needlepoint if she was able. She would have a short nap, and then get up again and go out for a walk of increasing length each day if the weather was fine, and then doze a little before supper. She would eat with her uncle and then retire to bed in the early hours of the evening.

Most days Dickon would arrange his day so that he could walk with Mary each afternoon. Mary wasn't sure if he wanted to be there to spend time with her, or if he was worried about her straining herself on her walk or falling. He certainly worried enough and held her elbow firmly enough to partially convince her of the former.

Mary was determined to get better, and exchanged many letters with Colin on the various ways he had discovered to recover strength. Colin sent back an old frayed copy of the exercises that Dickon had found for him as a child, and Mary attempted to work this slowly into her routine. She was getting stronger, but even every step forward seems like a step backward from how she had felt before she was ill in the first place.

As usual, uncle Crane had a unique perspective. "Perhaps its just the damp English air. We could go to the south of France, or to Italy, or Greece. Just to get the chill out of our bones. I believe I'll go whether you come or not, and as this is my last year before you leave me forever to go live with your husband, I think it's the least you can do to keep me company."

Mary was reluctant to leave Dickon, but she had to admit the prospect of the trip was very exciting. She could see Florence, and Rome, Athens, and all of the places she had only read about. Although she'd grown up in India, she hadn't traveled much since. Most of all, she was excited that the plan might get her well again.

Dickon was worried about the need to travel so extensively by train, but agreed that it was the best way he could think of for Mary to regain her strength.

Mary prepared as best she could. Immediately she wrote letters to all her girlfriends from school who had traveled and asked them exactly what to pack. She got many letters chalked full of advice and set out to acquire all of her purchases. Since she was not overly healthy, much of her shopping involved letters to Colin or tradespeople in London.

Mary's uncle Archibald was equally as busy, sending wires and letters to reserve rooms and calling on many of his very old acquaintances to do so. He had been quite the traveler when Colin was sick, after his wife had died, and so he was an old hand at making last minute plans.

Finally the last trunk was packed and Mary and her uncle's departure was set for the next day. Mary was excited; as much as she loved England, she was going to see places she'd only read about for the first time. She wished she would be seeing them with Dickon, but, even if they married immediately so he could join them, Dickon had patients who needed him. Knowing that when she returned she would marry Dickon almost immediately made any separation tolerable.

Mary walked into the drawing room slowly, sat down to catch her breath, and then greeted Dickon, who was deep in conversation with Mary's uncle.

"I'm so glad you came," Mary said.

"Of course I came. I had to see you before you left," he said. He got up and moved to a seat closer to Mary, and took her hand.

"I'll miss you every day," Mary said.

"I think you've given me enough instructions on how to take care of my niece on our journey. Quite possibly, far more instructions than any other doctor would deem necessary. I think it is safe for me to leave the two of you to say your goodbyes. I will make sure you are not disturbed," Archibald said. Mary smiled at the twinkle in his eyes.

After he left Mary edged closer. "An un-chaperoned goodbye? How lovely," she said.

Dickon smiled and put his arms around Mary. She felt so warm within his arms. Mary turned her face upwards and closed her eyes, smiling against Dickon's lips as he kissed her just as she had expected he would. His lips were warm and gentle, and Mary reached around his waist and held him tighter.

"Just think, shortly after you get back we will be married and able to do this whenever we please," Dickon said.

"The time will surely go fast because I am seeing all those wonderful new things," Mary murmured, moving her face to Dickon's neck and breathing in, relishing the clean smell of him. Even when he had been a boy Dickon had smelled like clean and wholesome and the outdoors. She kissed his neck softly, a little unsure of her self, and Dickon pulled her closer.

"Oh Mary, Mary, Mary, you know for me these months will seem like years. Eons. But you must get well. Will you promise to get well? Eat wholesome food, and walk a great deal outdoors, but don't strain yourself, and think of me every moment, alone in this dark, gloomy country?" Dickon said.

"I will. Every day I will think of you, and I'll write often."

Mary kissed Dickon, and this time became more adventurous, sucking his lower lip slightly. Dickon responded by pushing her mouth open with his and gently swirling his tongue against hers. Mary had never been kissed in quite so lovely a way before, and she responded in kind, making small noises of pleasure as she did so. Dickon pulled away with a great show of reluctance, and several parting pecks on her cheeks, forehead and closed eyes.

"Oh, I wish you weren't leaving," Dickon said.

"I'm doing it for you," Mary said. She smiled wickedly. "How often can one say she is going to Rome and Paris and Athens, and all for the love of her man?"

"You must be honest about your health in your letters. I have colleagues abroad that I can have see you if you worsen," Dickon said.

"I will only have good news because I want more than anything to start a life with you. Once I get the chill out of my bones and rid of this infernal cough, all shall be well. I swear it."

"Then, my dear, I shall see you in the spring," Dickon said. He rose, took a long look at Mary as if he were memorizing each small detail, and then left.

Mary tried to think enthusiastically about her upcoming journey, but all she could think about was leaving Dickon, and England, and all her dear friends.

She knew she would feel differently in the morning, so she resolved to go to bed early so the morning would come all the sooner.

Tomorrow, she would be in London, and soon after that, Paris. It was all rather exciting, really.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Forgive me E.M. Forester, I stole your pensione from _Room with a View_. This chapter is bit of a tribute to love letters.

Mary stood at the window of her pensione, looking at the gorgeous view of the Arno River and the Florentine skyline. She sighed with pleasure, taking down her hair.

"You got a letter, miss," the cockney maid said, poking her head in the door to place her letter on the silver tray.

"Thanks Dolly," she said.

She ran over to the letter and opened it, jumping on the bed to read it. It was from Dickon.

_Dear Mary,_

_Hello my dear. So glad to hear you are feeling better. Please eat plenty of fruit and a nice steak now and then. A woman can't live on broth alone!_

_Plans for the wedding are moving a pace, and Colin has apparently enlisted a wonderful musician to play at the breakfast. Are you sure you want to trust your wedding day to a couple of blokes? I hope you will be happy with the arrangements. I know you said in your last letter that you only want to marry me and aren't fussy about how the job is done—I will remind you of that on the day, if you don't mind._

_My mother and the rest of my family are doing well. I hope you don't mind, but I've sent my little brother Joey to school. He wants to be a scientist like Colin, or some such. He's done the work, as I told him last year he would have to be able to write all his letters perfectly and perform all his multiplication tables for me to agree to pay for his schooling. _

_The practice is doing splendid, although I do wish you were here to straighten out some accounts. My secretary is not keen on math, and as that is principally why I hired him, I'm afraid I shall have to let him go. I was hoping you could take over his duties. Actually I was rather hoping you would give him the sack as well, but I suppose I should take responsibility for it because I was the one who hired him. _

_All my love,_

_Dickon_

_P.S. In a fit of sentimentality, I have sealed a kiss inside this envelope. _

Mary laughed at how jocular and cheerful Dickon sounded in his letter. She had been pleased to be able to report in recent letters that her health was greatly improved; in fact, so much so that she had been trying to convince her uncle not to go on to Athens.

He had argued that she would regret not seeing the acropolis, and she reluctantly agreed. It meant more than a month added onto the trip, but it was what they had originally planned on, and her uncle sincerely seemed to want to see the sights with her that he had seen so often and with such pleasure in the past.

"I wanted to take this trip for your health, my dear, but I had selfish reasons as well. I shall probably never go to the continent again. Please allow me the pleasure of showing you my favourite sights," Crane had said.

"I would love to see them with you," Mary had said.

"My dear, you are one of the best surprises I ever had. You were an unexpected gift that gave me unparalleled joy. I am so happy to be here with you just before your wedding," he said.

Mary had been touched to realize that her uncle's feelings for her were as strong as hers for him. Her parents had never seemed to care much for her, and she had always wanted a close relationship with them without really realizing it. Her uncle was a wonderful gift, too, so she hugged him, kissed his cheek, and agreed to finish the trip as originally planned.

She went to sit at the writing desk, taking a fresh sheet from the pile and preparing a pen. Before she could write a thing, however, there was a knock on the door.

"Mary? Would you like to go into the market with me?" her uncle asked through the door.

"Please come in, uncle," she said.

"I see you've received a letter. Shall I take this to mean that you would like to postpone our outing?"

"Would you mind very much if we went in the morning? There's so much I haven't told Dickon yet about our trip, and I have neglected Colin frightfully," she said.

"I suppose I should send him a line as well," Crane said, but without enthusiasm.

"Thank you."

Mary settled in and started her letter. She filled the first half of it with news of her trip, and in the second half she replied to comments in Dickon's letter:

_Dickon, of course I eat more than broth. One needs a healthy diet (and develops a healthy appetite) when one sees all the sights and does the things I described above. You worry too much._

_I am sure that between you and Colin, you will be able to come up with a wonderful wedding. Be sure to include your mother in the plans. I know she might feel out of place as you mentioned in your previous letter, but as Mrs. Medlock always said, your mother is a sensible woman, and I suspect that the only skill you and Colin might be possibly lacking is good sense! I do hope you are not letting costs get out of hand. I know Colin and my uncle can afford it, but someone has to rein them in._

_My last letter from Colin included something extremely curious. A reference to a "McGibbon". Although no reference was made to the sex of the mysterious individual, I find myself strangely convinced that this new colleague is a woman. Is it possible that my cousin could have found his intellectual and romantic match? Details, please!_

_I am extremely happy to hear that Joey is being sent to school. He is a very bright boy, and I look forward to having many pleasant intellectual conversations with him in the future. _

_I am sorry to hear about your secretary. I would be very pleased if you were the one to fire him, rather than I, although when I take over the duties of the household and practice accounts, I will certainly hire and fire any further help we might need. I hope you haven't gone and made a best friend of the fellow, (although I know you must have, as you make friends wherever you go), but remember what you said to me, that math skills are the principle reason you hired him, and you don't fancy having to go over his work._

_All my love is sealed in this letter. I sometimes close my eyes and imagine I can feel your arms around me. I can't wait another moment to start our life together! I shall have to console myself with my beautiful view of Florence's sunset, but I would rather end the day feeling your kiss warm my lips instead._

_All my love to your family. Tell your mother I bought her the set of photographs she wanted—only one more set to go! I hope she will like the finished album. _

_I can't seem to stop writing. I suppose in some way I am waiting for your reply, and feel wrong ending without hearing it. Write me the moment you get this, and don't forget to seal a kiss inside my letter. Foolish boy, you did it once and now I'll always expect it. _

_I love you!_

_Mary_

Mary kissed the letter and put it in the envelope. She ran down the stairs of the pensione and gave the letter to Dolly to post.

As she dressed for dinner she imagined how wonderful it would be to dress for dinner with Dickon. The intimacy of seeing her husband dress, and tie his tie, and maybe steal a look at her without her clothes, or a kiss…She felt unbearably wicked, and giggled her way to dinner.


	16. Chapter 16

Mary was terribly excited.

She could see the white cliffs of Dover, and that meant very soon they would disembark. Mary had never been terribly good at sea voyages despite, or perhaps because of, her vast experience with them. She couldn't wait to stand on English soil again.

Colin was supposed to pick them up in his motor car and take them to London for the night. Mary was looking forward to a night in a house she knew, even if it was only a guest bed. She'd never stayed at the London house long enough to lay claim to any particular room. Her fondness for the country had always left her disenchanted with the undeniable charms of the city, but she did like a visit now and again.

On this visit, of course, she wanted more than anything to get it over with and get back to her little village, and to Dickon. They would be married almost immediately—and then her life could truly begin.

Mary stirred restlessly and began to rise.

"Mary, you mustn't go out on deck. Dickon will tan my hide if I let you catch a chill and took away that wonderful colour from your cheeks," Uncle Archibald said.

"Uncle, it's hardly a drizzle. I'll have to get used to it soon, anyway. It is England, after all," Mary said, but she smiled. She had never imagined fifteen years ago that her uncle, a Lord of the realm, would be worried about the grubby little boy who helped out round the garden tanning his hide.

"I should let you go out there. Then perhaps we could turn around and go to Constantinople," Archibald grumbled.

Mary fancied he was rather sad that the trip was over. In a way, so was she. It was as though not only the trip was over, but her childhood, too. She would be moving out soon. "I think we should consider our options, uncle. Shall our standing visit be at yours or mine?"

"Mine, of course. As far as we know now, the cakes are better at my place. And you will have to tend to the garden, of course," Archibald said.

"Oh, yes," Mary said. "I will miss it."

"And you did go to all the trouble of stealing it," he said.

Mary smiled, remembering her queer, childish ways. "I shall have to take a daily constitutional, or a ride on my horse, for my health, of course."

"Do come in the morning. That way we won't have to deal with other visitors, and you can still be home to greet your own callers in the afternoon," Archibald said.

Somehow even though Mary felt quite pleased with the arrangement, she felt tears sting her eyes. "You've been a father to me, all these years. Thank you," she said, blinking the tears away.

"Come here, my dear, dear girl," he said.

They hugged tightly, and then glanced around to see what was happening, both a little embarrassed by their excess of emotion. The ship was docking, and the passengers were lining up.

Archibald rose and extended his arm. Mary rose and linked arms with her uncle, and he patted her arm fondly. "Let's see if that boy managed to crank the old car up in time to meet us. I think we docked early."

Mary stepped onto the deck, looking around at all the other passengers in their finery. If there was one tradition Mary did like about travel by ship, it was the tradition in which everyone dressed up for docking. She had on a red frock that she had bought in Paris with an outrageous candy cane striped hat. Dickon would surely call her a toff, and she'd never have a place to wear the hat in the country, but she did look gloriously fine in it.

As they walked the anticipation grew. Little girls burst out crying, boys shouted and shot imaginary guns, and ladies waved and pointed out their friends on shore. "Do you see Colin?" Mary asked.

Mary thought she saw her cousin, but then an overeager passenger bumped against her and she lost him.

"I think that's him next to the dark haired gentleman with the extremely wide grin," Archibald said, pointing.

Mary looked, and there he was, right next to Colin. "Did you know he was coming?"

"I knew I would have come, in his place," Archibald said.

Mary found herself bouncing on the balls of her feet and waving excitedly. She walked a few more agonizing steps down the gangplank and lost him, and then found him again and waved with renewed enthusiasm. Then she lost him again.

"Where is he?" she asked.

Archibald looked but couldn't see him. Mary continued down the gangplank, finally reaching shore and finding a place to stand on the crowded pier. She craned her neck and looked all around her, and then Dickon filled her vision. She threw her arms around him and held him tight, feeling home at last. His arms were strong, and somehow, even amidst the foul smells of the harbour, he smelled of dew and earth and freshly baked bread.

The rest of the landing was a blur. Mary was sure she gave Colin a hug and a kiss and identified her luggage, but had virtually no memory of doing so. Finally they settled into the car, with Colin sitting in front with his father and she and Dickon in the back.

Dickon held onto her hand and couldn't seem to stop looking at her, and she glanced at him constantly—she knew why she was doing it, because she couldn't believe he was really there, but she had to ask why Dickon seemed to be unable to look away from her.

"You look so healthy, and so very, very beautiful," Dickon said.

"Do you like my hat?" Mary asked, laughing.

"It's deliciously impractical. You look like a woman from a magazine," Dickon said.

"You look beautiful, too," Mary said.

"I'm so very happy you're home. And safe, and healthy. Do you still want to marry me in a week's time?" Dickon asked.

"Why on earth would you even ask me that? It's all I've wanted for years," Mary said.

"I don't know. Suddenly you just seem so rich and worldly and fashionable and out of my league," Dickon said. "You could have anybody."

Mary pretended to consider and then nodded seriously. "I hadn't thought of that. Of course I'm too good for you. I shall send a telegraph to Ramsey in the morning."

"I'm serious, Mary. Do you really want me?"

"More than anything," she said. She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, feeling the thrill of his kiss in return, and of simply being near him. "I love you. I want you. I simply won't let you back out, now."

"Mary," Dickon breathed. "Soon you'll be my wife. And we'll finally get to be alone together."

"I think I shall enjoy that," Mary said.

"You think?" Dickon said. He chucked with a confidence that sent thrills through Mary's stomach. "I'll make sure you enjoy every minute."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: I am very sorry for taking so long to finish this story. This is the final chapter. I've really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy reading it. Thank you to all the people who have been following this story and reviewing. Your input and encouragement means a lot!

Mary stayed in London alone a few days to get linens and clothes and household items she had not found abroad. She found everything she needed, at least until the next time she went to London, and got on the train. Her uncle had a valet pick her up at the station.

When she arrived at her dear, dear Misselthwaite Manor, she began packing up all her things to be sent to Dickon's house.

"Just think, if you'd married me, you wouldn't have to pack at all," Colin joked as he watched his cousin pack.

"I thought you had views about cousins marrying," Mary muttered. She was too preoccupied with organizing her needlepoint materials to get annoyed with him.

"Well, most cousins. However, we're of excellent stock," Colin said.

"No we're not! We were both terribly sickly and weak as children. In fact, our bloodline is getting an infusion of truly strong Sowerby blood. The scientist in you should be thanking me," Mary said.

"I have to say, I do thank you, for finding such a good man to make your husband. I would've hated it if you had found some awful man I couldn't stand to be around and I then wouldn't be able to see you anymore," Colin said.

"You mean it was that easy to get rid of you all along?" Mary smiled.

"You and Dickon must come to dinner once, no twice a week," Colin said.

"But I'm already visiting with your uncle every morning. At this rate, I oughtn't to have moved out at all. I should have had Dickon move in," Mary said.

"You could, you know," Colin said.

"I hope you're joking. I know you will marry someday, and I have no wish to be a guest in my own house. I want to run my own household, and plan my own meals, and live my own life," Mary said crossly. She noticed Colin smiling at her, and she smiled back. "Yes, that did make me less sad about leaving. Thank you."

"Anytime," Colin said, and then he drifted off to see what was happening in the rest of the house.

The day of the wedding seemed as though it was going to be grey and grim, but around nine the sun burned through the clouds and warmed the day.

They were getting married in the morning, and Mary couldn't wait to get started. She didn't like being the centre of attention, and she wished she could just skip the ceremony and get to the marriage—but she couldn't do that.

She examined her dress in the mirror. It was a pale green silk dress with a drop waste, decorated in colourful flowers crafted with silk thread and pearls. She had bought the dress because it reminded her of the garden, and as she couldn't get married in the garden, she wanted something to remind both of them where they started.

She could still remember telling Martha she loved Dickon, and he was beautiful, when she was just a little girl. Martha had looked at her like she was mad. Mary hadn't changed much, apparently; she still loved the boy madly, although Dickon now fit the conventional view of beauty a lot more than he had then.

She readied herself in the antechamber of the church, and asked her uncle how many people were in the church.

"I've never seen so many people wedge themselves into such a tiny church," Archibald said.

"I bet you never thought the Sowerby family would even be invited to a family wedding, let alone marrying one of your children," Mary said. "Do you mind much?"

"England is changing, my dear," Archibald said. "Some of the old folk here might grumble and call Dickon and upstart, but look at Europe—empires are falling. Great changes are coming, and in such days, it's best not to hold onto the past too tightly."

"Besides, I'm only a penniless relation," Mary grinned.

"Keep telling yourself that after Dickon tells you what I've given you to start your new life together," Archibald said, his eyes twinkling.

Mary raised her hands to her face, trying not to cry "Don't tell me! I'll only cry and I don't cry prettily. Let's get this over with."

"I'll just see if everyone's ready. By god this might be the first wedding in history to start when it's supposed to," Archibald said.

He returned quickly, although to Mary it felt like an hour. "Are we ready?" she asked, and then she heard the music start.

The wedding was beautiful, and Colin had probably spent a mint on the roses. They lined the pews of the church and burst triumphantly from the altar. In a way Mary felt as though she was in the garden, because she was with Dickon, and Colin and her uncle Archibald, and it was the garden that had brought them together, and made four very different people into a family.

Soon Mary and Dickon would have a family of their own, and hopefully they would play in the garden with Colin's children.

The moment came for Dickon to kiss the bride, and he gave her a chaste kiss. Mary found herself distracted by the cheers and whooping—the priest had probably never heard that kind of commotion in his little country church before. She'd probably never hear the end of it, she thought, laughing.

"Are you happy, Mary?" Dickon asked her.

"So much. Are you happy?" Mary asked.

"More than I ever thought I could be," Dickon said, smiling down at her with his moor-blue eyes.

The wedding lunch was far more luxurious and expensive than she would ever have planned herself. Susan Sowerby was appalled by the expense—but she had had weeks to prepare herself.

"Ah cun't do now't to stop those rascals," she said. "Men don't 'ave sense."

"Don't worry tha sen. It were a beautiful wedding," Mary said.

"Oh tha has made us proud," Susan said, grabbing Mary and kissing her soundly on both cheeks.

Finally Mary and Dickon made their exit from the party and traveled to their home. The maids had already unpacked Mary's bags (before they went to the wedding, of course) and there was nothing to do but get a tour of the place. There was no staff in the house, for privacy's sake, and the cook had left a nice stew and a loaf of break in the kitchen for their dinner.

"Dinner? I might never eat again," Mary said.

"Do you like the house?" Dickon asked.

Mary looked at her husband, thrilling at the thought that he was hers, and he was her husband, and he would be hers always. "I love it. It's absolutely perfect."

"I thought you'd want to redecorate. Isn't that what new brides do?" Dickon teased.

"I don't know. Can we afford that?" Mary asked.

"Your uncle gave us an income. Did he not tell you that? I really am a gentleman doctor now, who need not work," Dickon said.

"I thought he was joking about that," Mary said. "How long and how hard did you argue about this with him?"

"I told him no flat out about a thousand times. It didn't do any good. He even said I should consider it your dowry," Dickon said.

"What a sweet old-fashioned notion. I suppose that makes it mine to spend?" Mary joked.

"I don't think that's how dowries work. It's more like a pay-off from a father-in-law to take a troublesome daughter off his hands," Dickon said.

"Oh, I'm troublesome now, am I?" Mary said. She put her arms around Dickon's neck and without hesitation he bent down to kiss her more passionately then he had ever done before.

"Yes, very troublesome," Dickon murmured against her lips, nudging her nose with his own.

"How is that?" Mary asked, angling up for another kiss. This one warmed her from head to toe and made her unstable on her legs—but this was a pleasant feeling, a beautiful languor, not the weakness she had experienced before.

"You turned my life upside down," Dickon said. He laughed slightly and leaned lower and kissed her neck. It tickled and she laughed in a throated, wicked way.

"I'm not sorry," she said.

"And then you turned it topsy-turvy, and then you made me want you so much I could hardly breathe in the same room with you. Did you know that? You make me catch my breath," he said.

"If you want me, then make me your wife," she said.

"Mary, Mary," Dickon said, nuzzling her neck. "I love thee."

"Oh Dickon," Mary said. "I love thee, too."


End file.
